


Once We Win (and we will be winning)

by Rehearsal_Dweller



Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:48:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25815298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rehearsal_Dweller/pseuds/Rehearsal_Dweller
Summary: "Davey? That's your partner's name?"
Relationships: David Jacobs/Jack Kelly, Racetrack Higgins & David Jacobs
Comments: 388
Kudos: 265





	1. Davey's the brains.

**Author's Note:**

> Remember how I rambled at length about David's relationship with the nickname Jack gave him (especially as it relates to his relationship with jack) the other day?? This is the fic I promised to go with it. 
> 
> The chapters that overlap the musical will (as much as possible) be named for lines of dialogue that include Davey's nickname, but the story will definitely go beyond the end of the show and I have no idea what I'm going to do for chapter titles when I get there lol. First chapter isn't super long but I have a feeling they're going to grow as I get going.

David Jacobs did not wake up this morning intending to start a strike.

David Jacobs would argue that he _didn’t_ start a strike.

Jack Kelly would disagree.

(Jack Kelly would be right, because it was at _most_ a team effort.)

Anyway, whoever’s shoulders the responsibility actually rests on, the action was done. A strike was begun.

Jack and David are in fucking charge of it.

David isn’t sure, exactly, how _he_ ended up at Jack’s side for this, because sure he’s technically Jack’s selling partner for the moment but how that ended up with him standing on a table in front of the assembled newsboys of Lower Manhattan (the Newsboy _Union_ of Lower Manhattan, and hopefully soon of New York as a whole) next to Jack is anyone’s guess.

And he is. He’s standing right next to Jack, Jack’s arm slung across his shoulders despite David standing a few inches taller than Jack, as Jack starts giving instructions to the other boys about _what to do now_.

There’s this thing that keeps happening –

This thing, where the boys will look at Jack and ask a question.

And then _Jack_ will turn his head maybe forty-five degrees, so he’s still facing the boys but he’s looking at David.

And softly, Jack will repeat the question. And then he’ll wait.

“What’cha think, Davey?” Jack says. “What now?”

“We’ve got to pass the word along to the rest of the city,” David replies. “Spread the word, see if we can get other newsies on our side.”

“You heard the man,” Jack says, because David is speaking full voiced but Jack is still about to repeat him, “let’s split up, get the word out.”

Jack says that looking out toward the boys, who have been waiting for Jack’s go-ahead to follow David’s instructions.

This is how the whole morning has gone, really.

It started the instant that Jack won David over – and he was always going to win David over, no matter how much David resisted, because he looked David in the eye and called him _Davey_ and appealed to the voice deep in David’s head that’s _furious_ that they’re being taken advantage of like this. Because Jack had an idea, a concept, but not an executable plan.

Not the language to articulate it.

And he’d looked at David, and he’d called him _Davey_ , and he’d _known_ that David could get him the rest of the way there.

So they’re standing on a tabletop, and it’s all call-echo-response.

A question is asked, a question is repeated, a question is answered.

An answer is given, an answer is repeated, an answer gets a reaction.

And then – “Fine! Me’n Davey’ll take Brooklyn.”

“Me?” David says, snapping out of his own head. “No! I’ve gotta get –“

“Why’s everyone so scared of Brooklyn?” a new voice says. Jack and David – who’d been looking at each other – both turn to take in the newcomer.

It’s a girl, probably about the same age as the two of them, eighteen or nineteen at the oldest. She’s got coppery brown hair that falls in careful curls around her face, and her clothes are clean and coordinated in a way that none of the newsies’ are. In her hands are a notepad, a pen, and what looks like maybe yesterday’s paper.

And she’s blown in asking questions even David doesn’t quite know the answer to.

Not just _what’s so scary about Brooklyn_ but _do you really think you can pull this off?_

(David isn’t sure if they can, but he’s deeply offended that this _girl reporter_ has the audacity to suggest that any cause is hopeless.)

As the boys disperse to head out into the city to pass along the message, David pulls Les aside to wait for Jack, who’s still talking to the girl.

He isn’t trying to listen in on their conversation, but he still catches some of it anyway.

“Have you always been their leader?” the girl asks.

Jack scoffs. “Me? I’m a blowhard. _Davey_ is the brains.”

David’s heart stutters a little at that – despite how this day’s been going, he’s surprised to hear Jack admit so easily that he holds David in such high regard.

The girl seems surprised too. “Modesty is not a quality I would’ve pinned on you.” She chuckles, and scratches something onto her notepad. “So Davey? That’s your partner’s name?”

“Yeah, Davey,” Jack confirms.

More pen scratching. “Thank you.”

“ _You_ got a name?”

“Katherine. Plumber.”

David is vaguely aware of the girl – Katherine – asking a few more questions about the strike and tomorrow and Jack trying to turn his answers into flirting. He’s not paying attention, though, his brain caught on Jack’s confident confirmation – _Yeah. Davey._

Because David’s name _isn’t_ Davey. It’s never been Davey. His family calls him lots of things and Davey is none of them – his mother prefers petnames in her native tongue, his siblings started shortening to _Day_ when they were toddlers and never stopped. Davey has never entered the equation.

But it’s all Jack calls him, and Jack uses David’s name a lot. Every few sentences is punctuated with it. A hook for his attention, an _eh, Davey?_ tacked onto the end of a sentence.

And what Jack calls him, all the other newsies call him.

So, David supposes, Davey _is_ his name now.

He spent most of yesterday trying to correct Jack whenever he used it, but he’s starting to get a better picture of Jack Kelly and the newsies as a group now.

The newsies, as a rule, don’t _use_ given names. David knows of three in the older age bracket who do – Albert, Henry, and Elmer – while a handful more like Jack and JoJo use more standard nicknames. David supposes that’s the category he falls into with Davey. But most of the boys have names with no relation to their real ones – boys like Racetrack, Specs, and Finch.

Jack took one look at David yesterday and made it his mission to make him a newsie. Even though David was resisting him for almost every single second of it.

Yesterday, even had he had the realization he did this morning about the significance of Jack dubbing him Davey on sight, David wouldn’t have cared. David didn’t want to be a newsie, he didn’t want to get comfortable and fit in. This was temporary, just until Papa can work again –

(Whether that will ever happen, David isn’t sure. But it was comforting to think about, especially when he looks at his brother, only nine years old and already working. The chance that Les might not go back to school is a heavy weight in David’s chest.)

But now it’s about more than just selling papers.

Jack took David by the shoulders and drilled that into him this morning.

It’s always been more than just selling papers – it’s a bunch of kids who’ve got nobody but each other to look out for them. It’s a leader who’s seventeen years old and doing his best even when the people he’s trying to help are being stubborn and a little stuck-up about it.

(It’s about Jack trying to find David a place in their ranks even while David was pushing back. About Jack coaching Les on the best moneymaking strategies despite David squirming in the background. About _how’s about we divvy up and get somethin’ to eat, then we’ll find you two someplace safe to spend the night.)_

As odd as the idea of a ‘ragtag band of ragamuffins’ banding together against the most powerful men in New York – in the world – might feel in concept, David has known Jack for two days and he already knows that he’ll do whatever needs doing to protect his boys. And that the boys trust Jack’s judgment and instincts enough to follow him.

And that Jack needs someone like David next to him turning those instincts into something tangible.

Jack needs David –

Jack needs _Davey._

(“I s’pose you do, Mr. President.”

“No – _we_ do. So what do we tell’im?”)

Les elbows David hard. “Yoo-hoo. David, you in there?”

“What?” David says.

Les gestures to Jack, who’s standing in front of them, watching David with an odd look on his face.

“You good, Davey?” Jack asks.

“Hmm? Just thinking about the strike,” David replies. “God, we’re doing this, aren’t we?”

“We’re doin’ this,” says Jack.

The first thing they do is walk to the Jacobses’ home and drop off Les, because bringing him along to Brooklyn just doesn’t feel like the best idea. For one, it might not go well, and for another he’s two feet shorter than David and Jack and will definitely slow them down.

So now Jack and David are walking together toward the Brooklyn Bridge alone, talking about the strike and plenty of other things besides.

“What’cha think’a Plumber?” Jack asks. “That reporter gal.”

“Got a hell of an attitude for a girl with a job like that,” says David, thinking slightly bitterly of the way she’d said _this is entertaining_.

“She don’t mean anything by it,” says Jack.

David shrugs. “I don’t know if that’s better. Either she was rude or she was thoughtless, neither are especially endearing qualities.”

“She’s on our side.”

“I know. But you think she’s pretty.”

“Ain’t she?”

“I suppose,” David says. He was a little distracted by her behavior.

“You think I got a shot with’er?” Jack asks in a dreamy tone. It sparks an odd feeling in David’s chest that he can’t quite place.

“No,” David replies, elbowing him. “You see how she was dressed? She’s got better prospects then a street kid with a smart mouth.”

“ _You’re_ a street kid with a smart mouth,” Jack says petulantly.

David snorts. “Anyway, she’s gotta stay impartial and shit. She’s reporting on the strike.”

Jack shrugs. “Guess so. Shit, Davey, d’you think – I mean, she said she thought we could make the front page. You think we can?”

“For sure,” says David. He’s not sure if it’s true, but he can see in Jack’s eyes that he needs the reassurance that tomorrow will go right. “We just gotta keep doin’ what we’re doin’. We’re gonna change the world. Or, you know, the World.”

Jack tugs David a little closer with the arm around his shoulders, to something that feels less like friends casually walking together and a lot more like a hug.

“I couldn’t do this without you, Davey.”

“Sure you could, Jack. This was your idea.”

“No, I – I don’t think I could. You’s the one that’s gonna make this work, ‘stead’a just bein’ me mouthin’ off.”

David squeezes Jack back. “Well we’re in this together. Here’s hoping we can get Brooklyn with us, too.”

They walk in comfortable silence for a little while. It’s remarkable, really remarkable, how quickly David got comfortable with Jack.

David has always been cautious with new people. Not shy – David Jacobs is many things, but _shy_ is none of them – just cautious. He’s slow to warm up, slow to open up. Sarah says he makes friends like he has to cross a field of broken glass to get there.

But Jack wiggled through all of David’s barriers in about two hours flat. He’d been cocky and obnoxious with a genuine undercurrent of caring and (perhaps most compelling) a deep layer of fear and anxiety that David could relate to, although it clearly stemmed from different sources in the two of them. He’d liked Jack well enough by the end of their selling day, but it was in the wings of Medda Larkin’s theatre that David knew without a doubt that Jack Kelly was someone he wanted to keep in his life.

He’d seen Jack Kelly, leader of the newsboys of Lower Manhattan, fall away to reveal Jack Kelly, seventeen-year-old boy with a heart of gold, a flair for art, and a boatload of poorly buried trauma. Jack may have had the former persona firmly affixed when he arrived to distribution this morning, but David knows the scared, talented kid is still underneath.

It makes him feel more approachable, more human.

It makes David feel – something. He’s not sure what.

The conversation moves on.

In Brooklyn, David gets another name, one he’s got a sinking feeling is going to stick around –

“What’s this,” Spot Conlon asks critically, “some kinda walkin’ mouth?”

“Yeah,” Jack cuts in before David can protest on his own behalf. “A Mouth with a brain, and if you’ve got half of one you’ll listen to what he’s got to say.”

They don’t win Spot over.

David is disappointed, but not entirely surprised. It is what it is – maybe the other boys will have had better luck with the rest of the city.

Jack walks David home before heading to the lodging house for the night. They linger outside on the street, David a little unwilling to face his parents, Jack unwilling to go home and face the rest of the boys.

“You scared, Davey?” Jack asks softly. “That Plumber gal asked if I was and I –“ He cuts off with a pained expression.

“Yeah,” David admits. “I’m terrified. But I think we’re doing the right thing.”

“I know we’s doin’ the right thing,” says Jack. “I just hope that’s enough.”

“It’s gonna be. It’s gotta be.”

“Yeah.” Jack sighs. He takes his hat off, combing his fingers through his hair before replacing it. “I gotta get goin’, I guess. See you tomorrow, Davey.”

“See you tomorrow, Jack.”

It takes David a long time to fall asleep that night.


	2. Davey, you tell'em!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HUGE thanks to everyone who commented on chapter 1 telling me how excited they are for this fic!! I'm really excited too so I hope this lives up to expectations!!

The next day dawns bright and early, and there is a tight anxious feeling in David’s chest that he almost can’t breathe through. He’s worried, really worried, about what will happen today.

“David?” Sarah says softly. “Day, are you okay?”

David nods silently.

“You look terrible,” says Sarah, never one to pull her punches.

“Thanks,” David croaks out. He smiles weakly at her.

“Are you afraid? About the strike?” Sarah asks.

David gives her a sharp look, then nods toward Les, who’s still sleeping curled into a little ball next to David.

Sarah frowns. “Are you bringing him with you?”

“He’d come even if I didn’t want him to,” David replies. “I’ll keep him safe.”

“You better.”

It’s not much longer before David has to wake Les – a process – and they leave for the day.

When they arrive, just a handful of the other Manhattan newsies are present. None of their reinforcements, for sure. Not even all of the local boys have arrived yet, though, so David is tentatively hopeful.

He gets steadily less hopeful as the boys start reporting in about their visits to the other newsies.

He can see his own nerves and hopelessness reflected back at him in the other boys’ eyes.

“How’s about we just don’t show up for work?” Finch asks, “That’ll send a message.”

“No! They’d just replace us! We gotta stand our ground, boys!” says Jack. He reaches blindly behind him toward David, his hand grasping at nothing for a moment before he catches David’s arm. He turns, still holding on, to look at him. “Davey, you tell’em.”

He says it so softly that David might’ve missed it if he had eyes or ears for anybody but Jack right now.

“Jack, I –“ David starts, but he falters at the look Jack is giving him. It’s hopeful and nervous and something else unplaceable. David nods, and Jack drops his hand from his arm.

David makes a beeline for Race. If he can swing Race’s spirits, he’ll be able to get through to all of the boys, he’s sure. He doesn’t know Race well – he doesn’t know any of them well – but he knows Race is Jack’s second-in-command, knows he’s usually a well of boundless energy, usually loud and teasing. Knows that right now, Race is subdued, quiet, and anxious, fidgeting constantly with his cigar or his hat or his vest.

If he can just get through to Race –

David puts his hand on the younger boy’s shoulder, looking him square in the eye. “This is our one shot, Race. Now’s the time to seize the day. We’ve got to – to stare down the odds and stand together. Stay strong. We can do this.”

“Davey, I don’t know,” Race says softly.

“We can’t back down,” David says. “We’re never gonna get another shot.”

Race chews on his lower lip, unconvinced.

David sighs, giving up for the moment. He moves to talk to Mush instead. Then to JoJo. Then to Finch.

A few more boys – all from Manhattan – arrive, including Crutchie, who’s made a banner for his crutch. Race scoffs, declaring it pitiful.

David thinks it’s great.

“I love it, Crutchie,” he says sincerely. “This is the kind of courage we all need to have – to face our fears and be bold. We’re on strike! And we can’t shy away from it.”

Crutchie smiles at him, a little nervous but steady.

“Jack,” David says, and Jack seems to understand that David is asking him to speak, to try again to rally the boys. He nods.

“Look at us,” Jack says, “look at all of us! We’re here, we’re doin’ this, and we’re – we’re gonna stand our ground no matter what. No matter who else does or doesn’t show.” He glances at David.

“We’re not just fighting for ourselves,” David adds. He moves over to stand side-by-side with Jack, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. Jack’s slips around David’s waist. It’s a gesture meant to show the rest of the boys they’re not alone in this, but it steadies David’s own nerves more than he expects it to. “We’re standing up for all the newsies – all our brothers and sisters out there fighting to get by just like we are, even if they aren’t brave enough to stand with us.”

And that’s – that’s enough. Shockingly.

When even Race cracks half a smile, David is sure they’ve succeeded in bringing the boys around.

When a handful of strangers, other boys who’ve been paid off to scab, show up to buy papers, it’s all David can do to keep his friends from attacking them.

“Hey! We’ve all gotta stand together or we won’t have a _chance_ ,” David shouts, holding his arms out. He’s actually got a grip on Race’s upper arm to hold him back. “Jack!”

“I hear you!” Jack says, stepping forward. “I hear you.” He falters for a moment, then takes a breath. He glances at Davey before launching into an impassioned speech about their cause. He finishes in a broken voice, “For the sake of all the kids in every sweatshop, factory, and slaughterhouse in this city, I _beg_ you. Throw down your papes, and join the strike.”

Les steps up to Jack’s side, adding, “Please?”

For a long moment, no one says anything. There’s an almost electric tension in the air.

One of the scabs stomps toward Jack. David and Race both dive forward to grab Les and push him behind them, standing shoulder-to-shoulder in front of him.

“I’m with you!” the boy says, throwing his stack of papers to the ground.

There’s a triumphant roar from the newsies of Lower Manhattan. They’ve convinced one person – maybe they’ll really be able to pull this off.

The other two scabs follow suit after a little more pressure from Jack and David, and it seems for one blinding, wonderful moment like things are going to go their way.

Katherine’s photographer arrives, and snaps a picture of the boys in their moment of victory.

It all falls to pieces immediately afterward.

It’s nothing short of a riot, grown men pummeling children to a pulp over a few cents. The boys hold their own for a while, but it’s just cover as they scatter. The first punch lands on Jack – the second on David. It just gets worse from there.

David is on the ground, half hidden behind a wagon that usually carries papers out to other distribution centers. He’s trying to pull himself together enough to get out, to regroup with the other boys, but _fuck_. Every inch of him hurts. He’s sure he’ll be bruised badly come tomorrow, and he’ll be lucky if none of his ribs are cracked with how hard he got thrown into the wall.

His position behind the cart means he’s got a horrifyingly good view when the Delanceys take down Crutchie, and even worse – when Snyder beats him viciously with his own crutch before dragging him away. Crutchie is sobbing, crying out for Jack, for _anyone_.

David can’t help him.

He waits until everyone else has gone to pull himself to his feet, walking slowly and gingerly out of the square. He makes his way for the newsie lodging house, figuring that’s where the others will have gone.

He knows Les is safe, at least, because he watched Specs scoop the smaller boy up as he ran from the fray.

“Davey!” someone says as he stumbles over the threshold. It takes him a few dazed moments to process that the person who’s grabbed him by the arms and pulled him into a rough hug is Race. “Thank God. We’ve been so worried. C’mon, Les’s upstairs.”

David lets Race pull him upstairs, lets himself be forced into a sitting position on one of the beds, lets Buttons come over and start fussing over his injuries. He’s in a daze – not just because of his injuries, although that might be a factor, but because he’s suddenly hyperaware of the fact that they need to decide what to do _next_. They need to make sure everyone is alright, everyone is accounted for –

His stomach turns, the image of Crutchie beaten bloody and dragged away by the ankle coming back to him. It’s all David can do not to actually throw up.

Someone sits Les down next to David, which he’s grateful for. He’d known Les was mostly okay, but seeing him relatively whole in front of him is grounding.

Race is kneeling in front of David, looking up at him. “You’re one of the last back. Did you see Jack or Crutchie on your way?”

“Crutchie’s not coming back,” David says shakily. “Snyder got him.”

“Shit,” says Race, with a sharp breath in through his teeth. “Okay. Fuck.”

“Yeah. I don’t know where Jack is, I haven’t seen him,” says David.

“Fuck,” Race repeats. David nods. “Davey, _Davey_. Do you know what that means?”

His voice is strained and shaking. David can practically feel the tension rolling off of him.

But no, David doesn’t know what that means. He shakes his head.

“Mean’s we’re in charge, Davey,” Race says. “You and me, it’s gotta be you and me, ‘cause I can’t – I’m not ready –“

“Shit,” says David.

“Yeah,” says Race.

David isn’t sure how in three days he’s found his way into this position – of a much more established member of the group looking to him for help and guidance, for _leadership_. But he has and he’s terrified.

He meets Race’s eye. Race is terrified, too, David can see it.

Just like with Jack a few days ago, he’s seeing the bravado and the playfulness pulled back like a curtain, revealing Race as the lost, hurt kid he is right now, overwhelmed by the responsibility for all these boys that’s going to fall on his shoulders. David is suddenly struck by how young Race is – he’s probably only a year or so younger than David, but then again, David is feeling incredibly young right now, too.

David isn’t sure if he can really be of any help, but he’s definitely going to try.

“Okay,” David says. He puts a hand on Race’s shoulder. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Race echoes.

And then they get to work.

The next day, there’s still been no sign of Jack when Davey reunites with the boys. They’re all feeling dejected, hopeless, listless.

And then Katherine Plumber shows up.

“Would’ja look’it, that’s _me!”_ Race crows, clutching their front page article to his chest. “I’m famous!”

Katherine laughs. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah!” says Race. “You get’cha picture in the pape and that makes ya famous. And there’s me, front’n center next’a Davey and Jack!”

It’s an interesting game Race is playing. He’s hooked onto a distraction, and he’s trying to raise spirits.

And it’s working.

Race declares them the kings of New York, and starts going around and demanding what they’d want if their newfound fame could give them anything.

“’Ey, Davey!” he calls, tossing the paper to him. “What about you?”

“What?”

“What do you want?”

Davey stalls for a moment, self-consciously aware of the fact that there is nothing tangible he wants right now, and the intangible things all feel a hair too raw or personal for Race’s little game. “I want a promotion for our star reporter,” he says finally, grinning at Katherine and tossing her the paper.

“You’re _right_!” Race says. There’s a look in his eye that tells Davey he noticed the deflection, but fortunately he doesn’t call Davey out on it. “ _She’s_ the king of New York. The rest of you can all fuck off!”

“Race!” Davey chides, but it’s undermined by the laugh bubbling up in his throat. “No!”

“No way, Davey, our Kitty here saved the day! We was gonna give up and in she strolls, paper in hand, Racetrack Higgins is front page news!” Race says. (Kitty, another nickname, catches Davey’s ear.) He takes Katherine’s hands in his own and whirls her around a few times, and when he lets go she stumbles a little.

Davey catches her, setting her right on her feet. “You alright there?”

“I’m alright,” says Katherine. “I can’t say this is what I was expecting.”

“Race’s leadership style is certainly creative,” says Davey.

“Is he the leader now, with Jack unaccounted for? I would’ve expected it to be you,” Katherine says, eyeing Davey curiously. “Jack said you’re the brains.”

Davey laughs. “Of the strike, maybe. But I’m too new to take over, even if I wanted to. Race was Jack’s second.”

“I see.” Katherine tips her head to one side. “I didn’t realize you were new. I would’ve thought you and Jack had known each other for years – you’re a good team. It was like you were reading each other’s minds.”

Davey ducks his head, flushing a faintly pink. He’s not sure why, but her words spark a fuzzy warmth in Davey’s chest. “No, I’d never sold a pape a day in my life before four days ago. Maybe if I knew Jack that well I’d be able to – to know where he –“ Davey trails off, a handful of ideas all coming to him at once.

“What?”

“I think I might know where Jack is. And I think I know what we need to do next.”


	3. And what about your pal, Davey?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is really just a game of "Finn's newsies fic brand bingo" and so far we've checked off names/nicknames, angst, Ravey friendship, and the rally. Let's see if I can get all my greatest hits in lol!
> 
> Part of this chapter draws a lot of its dialogue from the watch what happens reprise - it's modified somewhat but it's definitely the closest I've gotten to the actual flow of a scene as it appears in the show.

Jack doesn’t seem especially happy to see Davey, all things considered.

That’s unfortunate for Jack, because Davey is _thrilled_ to see Jack. Particularly to see Jack _alive_ and more or less whole. It’s all Davey can do not to throw his arms around Jack and hug him until he’s sure he won’t disappear again. Davey not, generally speaking, being an especially physically affectionate person, this is an impulse he’s not really used to.

He settles instead for touching him more subtly whenever he’s within arm’s reach – tapping his shoulder, fussing with his hat, flicking his upper arm, swatting him with the paper. Gripping his wrist tightly as he pulls him around to face him.

“Lighten up, no one died.”

“Oh!” says Jack. “Is that what we’re aimin’ for?”

Davey meets Jack’s gaze, his jaw set. “We’re doing something’s never been _done_ before. How could that not be dangerous?”

“I ain’t takin’ that risk, Davey,” Jack says. “You know Crutchie’s in the Refuge? I tried to see’im, but he’s busted up so bad he couldn’t even make it to the window! And you know what’ll happen if we go back out there? More kids hurt! More kids locked up! And you’re willin’ to shoulder that for a couple’a pennies?”

“It’s not about _pennies_ , Jack!” Davey snaps. He’s still holding tight to Jack’s wrist. “You said it yourself, my family wouldn’t be in the mess we’re in if my father had a union. _We_ have the chance to keep the workin’ kids of this city outta that spot! This is a fight we _have_ to win!”

Jack wrenches his arm out of Davey’s grip. “If I wanted a sermon I’d show up for church.”

“Tell me how quitting does Crutchie any good, huh?” Davey says. Jack splutters. “Exactly. So here’s how this is gonna go – once we win, and we _will_ be winning –“

“We’ll be _what?”_

_“_ We’re _already_ winning!” says Davey. “So we’ll tell’em we don’t give in ‘till they let Crutchie go and –“

“Dave!” Jack cuts in, “what the _hell?”_ He grabs Davey’s hat and smacks it against the side of his head. “They must’a busted your brains up pretty bad. As _I_ recall, Dave, we all got our asses kicked! They won!”

“Yeah, the battle,” Davey says. “But Jackie, think about it! We’ve got them surrounded!”

(The nickname slips out completely on its own. Davey doesn’t even notice.)

“Look, Joe’s a jerk. He’s – he’s a rattlesnake,” Jack says. He opens his mouth to continue, but Davey cuts him off.

“Sure, you’re right. Do you know why rattlesnakes rattle?”

“What? No?”

“They rattle when they’re _scared_ ,” says Davey. “It’s a threat response! Jack, we’ve got the poor guy’s head fucking _spinning_. Why else would he send an entire army of goons after a bunch’a kids?”

“You –“ Jack says, slightly stunned, “you might be right.”

“Oh, thank god,” says Davey.

“If he wasn’t afraid – I mean he –“ Jack starts.

“He knows we’re winning,” Davey finishes with him.

“So what now?” Jack asks quietly, and for half a second Davey is back on that table at Jacobi’s.

“We’ve got to get the boys on board. Hold the rally. If we convince the newsies that we can win this thing –“

“We might actually be able to pull it off.”

“Exactly.”

There’s just a little bit of that same electric energy from yesterday morning flowing between them. They’re almost nose-to-nose, having moved incrementally closer together as they spoke until now, leaving them mere inches apart. Davey can see every detail of Jack’s face.

(Jack’s eyes are hazel.)

“Davey,” Jack says, and it’s barely more than a breath. “I’m still scared.”

“Yeah, me too,” Davey admits. His hand finds Jack’s wrist again, but this time his grip is gentle, comforting rather than tethering. “We’re doing something nobody’s ever even tried before. But I think we can do it. ‘Specially if we’ve got you.”

“Me?” says Jack with a half laugh. “Nah, Davey, you’s our secret weapon.”

Davey goes a little red, but he doesn’t break eye contact with Jack. “Sure, whatever you say. Could you ask Medda about using the theatre? You know her best.”

Jack nods. “Yeah, ‘course.”

“You’ll need to send boys out to spread the word again,” Katherine says, and Davey is suddenly reminded that he and Jack are not alone.

He is also suddenly very, very aware of how close he and Jack have drifted to each other.

The little bubble they’d found themselves in pops almost audibly, and the two boys step apart, turning to face Katherine and Les. The four of them start setting Davey’s rally plan in motion, with Jack deciding how to approach Medda and Davey taking on the responsibility of sending the boys out again.

Before long, Jack is ducking backstage and the other three are walking out the stage door.

“I knew you’d be able to get through to him,” Katherine says before they part ways.

“Well, that officially makes one of us,” Davey admits. “But I’m glad I did.”

Katherine laughs, shaking her head. “You haven’t seen yourself with him, Davey. It’s honestly incredible, it’s like you’re reading each other’s minds.”

“If you say so.”

Davey spends the next day and a half organizing the boys and checking in at theatre. Jack never turned back up after talking to Medda, but Davey trusts him. He knows what the plan is, and he’s probably just doing something else to prepare for the rally.

Davey doesn’t really have a ton of time to worry about it, anyway. He’s too busy making sure he hears back from the boys who are playing runner, making sure everyone knows which theatre they’re going to be in, making sure he doesn’t lose his mind from nerves.

The next thing Davey knows he’s standing at the edge of the stage, a huge, roaring crowd of newsies in front of him filling the house to bursting. He is now much more concerned by the continued lack of Jack Kelly, because the longer they are absent one Jack Kelly the more likely one Davey Jacobs has to stand up in front of the assembled newsies and address them properly.

Davey is not looking forward to that prospect.

He’s onstage with Race and Spot Conlon and someone’s asking where Jack is and then everybody’s chanting Jack’s name and _fuck, Jackie, where are you –_

Davey glances into the wings, where Medda is watching.

“No sign of him, kiddo,” Medda says, shaking her head. “Looks like you’re doin’ a solo act tonight.”

“No, I – I can’t –“ Davey says, more to himself than to her. Davey may have the words for this, but he doesn’t have Jack’s energy. He can’t silence the room like Spot Conlon.

Fuck.

_Fuck_.

“Newsies of New York!” he says anyway, despite his heart in his throat and a dizzy anxiety building. The room quiets, not as completely as when Spot spoke a few minutes ago, but – but they shut up. Holy shit. Davey might actually be able to do this. “Look what we’ve accomplished! We’ve got newsies from every neighborhood and every paper in New York here tonight. Tonight we’re here to show everyone who’s doubted us that we are a force to be reckoned with, and we are _done_ being treated like kids. We put in the hours and the hard work and we will be treated as equals!”

“You wanna be treated like an adult?” a familiar voice says, and oh, thank _God_. Jack is pushing his way through the curtains, moving to stand next to Davey. He bumps his shoulder against Davey’s as they cross paths. “Make some sense. Don’t just run your mouth.”

“And here’s Jack!” Davey says, and he’s sure his relief is coming through in his voice. He cannot begin to bring himself to care. Davey falls back a little, taking a place between Spot and Race a little upstage of Jack.

Jack starts to speak, and there’s something _off_ about him. It’s in the set of his shoulders and the strain in his voice, in the look in his eye as he glances back at Davey.

And then Jack is talking about – about disbanding the union and giving up the strike. About talking to Pulitzer and how he’d _promised_ he’d stop treating them like dirt temporarily if they’d just give up.

He’s up in Davey’s face, asking how long his family can go without the money he’s meant to be making as newsie. It's electric, but for all the wrong reasons.

“Vote no!” Jack finishes, and the floor falls out from under Davey’s feet.

He’s rooted to the spot as Spot grabs Jack roughly by the shoulders and hits him.

He can’t move as Jack runs into the wings.

He can’t _breathe_ as a man steps out of the shadow and presses a stack of bills into Jack’s hands.

“He’s a sellout!” someone says from the house.

“Traitor!” another voice shouts.

The newsies erupt into chaos, but Davey barely even registers it. He’s only got eyes for Jack.

Les runs over, tapping Jack on the arm, and Jack whips around with his arm raised as if to hit Les. He doesn’t, but the younger boy runs from him with a look of fear and betrayal in his eyes.

Jack tracks Les’s movement until he passes Davey, and then he meets Davey’s eye.

Davey wishes he hadn’t, because as soon as their gazes meet there are tears welling up in his eyes. He’s not even sure if they’re angry or sad or just hurt tears, because right now he’s just stunned.

He can see Jack’s mouth move. It’s too loud to hear what he says over the roar of newsie voices and the sound of Davey’s heartbeat pounding in his own ears, but the shape of his mouth is unmistakable.

“Davey,” Jack is saying. Nothing else, just _Davey_.

In all of this, all Jack can say is Davey’s name. Not just Davey's name but the name he _gave_ Davey.

Like Davey might feel less like Jack just reached into his chest and ripped his heart out if he just apologized, but he can’t even choke out the damn apology. So he’s just staring at him with pain and regret in his eyes and saying _Davey_ but it is too fucking little too fucking late.

Davey finally remembers how to use his legs, taking shaky steps backward, away from Jack. Shaking his head.

He tears his eyes from Jack’s, and the other boy runs away. Again.

Fucking _let_ him run.

This time Davey isn’t going looking for him.

Davey isn’t sure how much time passes between Jack leaving and Race finding him on the floor in the wings, his back pressed against the wall and his forehead resting on his knees. It’s all a blur, a daze. It feels like ages, but it can’t be more than a few minutes.

“Davey?” Race is saying, shaking his shoulders a little. “Daves, come on, snap out of it.”

“What?”

“Oh thank God,” says Race. There’s visible relief in his features. “You was real out of it, Davey. I’ve been tryin’a get your attention for a _while._ Can you stand up? Come on, we gotta get you back in front of the boys.”

“ _What_?”

“Rally ain’t over just ‘cause Jack’s a –“ Race’s voice catches. “Just ‘cause we ain’t got Jack anymore. Most’a the guys is still here, and Spot got’em shut up again. We’s just waitin’ on you, Davey. We need a new plan, and you’s our plan guy.”

“I don’t – Race, I can’t,” Davey chokes out. “I can’t. “

“You gotta, Daves. You gotta.”

Weirdly, it's the nickname that gets through to him. Not the name Jack gave him, but one all Race's own. Davey nods.

Race tugs Davey to his feet, dragging him back out onto the stage. The room isn’t quite as full as it had been before, but there are still more than a few boys here. Every face Davey can see is turned toward him, watching expectantly.

“Davey Jacobs,” Spot Conlon says, his hands in his pockets. It’s remarkable how intimidating someone so small in such a relaxed position can look. “What else you got?”

Davey isn’t sure, but looking out at the room full of boys who are all trusting him to come up with a solution, he knows one thing for sure. When he speaks it isn’t loud, but the chatter in the room falls to almost nothing as soon as he opens his mouth.

“We don’t need Jack Kelly.”

Spot nods approvingly.

Davey doesn’t think he can carry this thing off on his own, but he thinks they might still have a fighting chance anyway.

After the rally, which ends with a fair amount of uncertainty regarding their next move but with a solid _yes_ vote to continuing the strike, Jack Kelly be damned, Davey is exhausted. Moreover, he’s completely and utterly emotionally drained.

He doesn’t go home after, though. He entrusts Les to Albert to get home, and he himself goes to the lodging house and holes up with Spot and Race in a corner of the dorm to try to hammer out a new plan.

It is all that Davey can do to keep talking. If he stops he’ll fall back into his own head, into the deep pit of pain and betrayal Jack dug for him.

Race is fidgeting more than Davey has ever seen, he’s a near constant flurry of motion. He’s even more restless than he was on that second morning of the strike. There’s one more gesture in the pattern than that day, though. Now, every few minutes, he’ll reach for Davey, like he’s trying to remind himself that Davey is still there. Davey can’t quite blame him, given that Jack _isn’t_. They’re sitting next to each other, so it’s largely pretty subtle – a bump of his shoulder against Davey’s, fingers picking at a thread that’s pulling loose on Davey’s vest, shifting just so so that their knees are touching.

“Racer,” Davey says eventually, reaching over and taking Race’s hand in his own. “Breathe.”

The younger boy falls still. His hand tightens on Davey’s as he looks over at him. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay,” says Davey. “I get it. It’s okay.”

“How are you so calm?” Race asks.

“I’m not,” Davey tells him. “But I can’t – I can’t let myself think about it. You know? I let myself go there and I ain’t coming back.” He sighs. “I’ve got shit to do. Don’t have time to fall to pieces.”

Race hums.

“You two done with your little moment?” Spot asks. He’s sitting across from them, the three of them camped on the floor between two sets of bunk beds.

“Sorry,” Davey says. He doesn’t want to end up on Spot’s bad side, although Spot doesn’t actually look particularly annoyed.

Spot shrugs. “Ain’t every day you get fucked over like the two’a you was today. But s’like you said, we gotta stay focused.”

“Yeah,” says Race, nodding, “focused.”

They redirect the conversation back to the topic at hand, but Race’s grip on Davey’s hand doesn’t release.


	4. the strike was your idea, the rally was Davey's -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter that overlaps the musical, but not the last chapter! I'm not sure how long this'll go, though, full disclosure. Just until I exhaust my extensive feelings about Jack renaming Davey, I guess.
> 
> Will likely take a small break to write that soulmate au I mentioned this morning though... :)

Both Spot and Davey stay the night at Race’s firm insistence, having talked far too late to make their way home – especially Spot, who would’ve been walking all the way back to Brooklyn.

So now Davey is lying awake, just as awake as he would be in his own bed, only it isn’t his bed (it's Race's) and he’s in a room full of other boys, many of whom also sound like they’re lying awake. There is at least one bed currently the source of muffled sobs, and everyone seems to have decided the politest way to handle that is to let him be.

Davey is feeling incredibly fragile in a way he never has before, like he’s a glass on the edge of a table, and one wrong bump will knock him to the floor to shatter into a thousand teeny tiny shards. And now, of course, he’s been left alone with his thoughts, and the feeling of precariousness is only increasing.

The worst part isn’t that Jack betrayed the strike and the union, although that stings.

The worst part isn’t Jack almost taking an instinctive swing at Les.

The worst part isn’t even Jack leaving poor Race to pick up the pieces of their friends.

The worst part, the part that has Davey aching so much inside he’s almost sure it’s going to kill him, is that Davey never even saw it coming. He trusted Jack completely, steady and certain even after he’d run away the first time.

He’s never been the kind of person who makes friends easily, has Davey.

Sarah says he makes friends like he has to cross a field of broken glass to get there.

But Jack –

Jack didn’t just push through Davey’s walls, he obliterated them. He walked into Davey’s life, held out his hand, and dragged him into a new life entirely. He changed Davey’s name.

He changed Davey.

There is no going back to the person Davey used to be before he met Jack Kelly. He _likes_ being Davey, likes being a newsie and a leader and a big brother to all these boys who look up to him, likes the feeling that maybe, maybe, a group of penniless kids have some kinda chance of making a difference in this stupid, awful world.

But no matter what, this new Davey Jacobs is always going to walk through his life knowing that it’s Jack Kelly who made him this way. Jack Kelly who dragged him kicking and screaming out of his shell, who took one look at him and said _yeah, he’s gonna be one of mine_.

Jack Kelly who broke him into little itty bitty pieces.

So yeah. Davey is angry – he’s _furious_ – that Jack abandoned them. He’s upset that Jack almost hurt Les. He’s livid that Jack would hang Race out to dry like this.

But mostly, more than anything else, Davey is bone deep hurt for himself. It’s not even anger, really, it’s just pain.

It’s a _lot_ of pain.

There’s a sensation Davey is familiar with from physical injuries, where when something is hurt badly enough it’s almost blindingly distracting. Sometimes near literally blinding.

He has never felt that level of blinding pain over an emotional wound before.

It’s honestly almost mortifyingly embarrassing how hung up he is over Jack, but when somebody blows into your life and redefines your entire identity, Davey thinks you’ve got a right to get a little worked up over them turning around and stabbing you in the back.

There’s a clatter at the window, and Davey tenses. The window is pushed open from the outside, and someone steps in. Davey can’t make out any features, although the build is achingly familiar.

The newcomer creeps through the dorm, right to the bed Davey’s currently curled up in.

“Racer?” Jack’s voice whispers, confirming beyond a shadow of a doubt that yes, this is Davey’s backstabbing traitorous best friend. “Look, I know you pro’lly ain’t happy with me right now but –“

Davey sits up. There’s not a lot of light in the room, but he’s facing the window, so weak moonlight falls across his face.

“Davey?” If it’s possible, Jack’s voice gets even softer, breaking a little on the second syllable. “What are – where’s Race?”

“Race is bunking with Albert, because he didn’t want to sleep alone,” Davey says coldly. Davey can see them, on the upper bunk two beds over, tangled together but still with lanky limbs hanging over the side. “Because he’s completely over-fucking-whelmed and worn practically through.”

Jack’s mouth opens and closes a few times, and he glances over in the direction of Albert’s bed. “Well I – I need’ta talk to you, too. More, pro’lly. Can you –“ he jerks his head in the direction of the window.

“Jackie –“

“Yell at me if you want, Davey, just come outside to do it,” Jack pleads. “I don’t wanna wake anybody.”

“Fine.”

Davey lets Jack pull him to his feet and follows him back to the window, then out onto the fire escape.

“What the fucking _fuck_ , Jack?” Davey snaps. He shoves Jack hard. Jack takes a stumbling step back.

“I’m sorry.”

“Fuck your sorrys!”

“Davey –“

“This was your fucking strike, Jackie! Your goddamn mess and you went’n stabbed us all in the fucking back! You stabbed _me_ and _Race_ in the fucking back! Because getting to your fucking _Santa Fe_ is worth more to you than your frineds,” says Davey. “What’cha got to say for yourself, Jack?” He shoves Jack again. “Huh?”

“I didn’t do it for the money,” Jack says. He winces, like maybe that wasn’t how he meant to start. “I didn’t do it for the money.”

“ _Oh_?” Davey replies, unconvinced.

“Davey,” Jack says, and it’s broken and pleading and digs into the gaping wound where Davey’s heart was before a few hours ago. “Please, you gotta believe me. It wasn’t about the money or Santa Fe or any of it.”

“Then what, _pray tell_ , was it about?”

“You.” Jack takes a shuddering breath. “And Crutchie and Les and the rest of the boys, but – but _you_.”

Some of the fight drains out of Davey. “I don’t understand.”

“Pulitzer threatened you. He threatened all of you, but you and Crutch and Les specifically,” Jack says. He meets Davey’s eye, unwavering despite the raw emotion in every word.

It’s like they’re in their own little bubble again.

It’s electric.

“Davey,” Jack says again, just as broken as before, “he threatened you by name.”

“I – what?”

“He didn’t even call Crutch or Les by name. They was ‘that crippled boy’ and ‘your partner’s baby brother,’ but you – Davey, Joe Pulitzer looked me in the eye and said your name and it scared the shit outta me,” says Jack. It’s all coming out in a rush, like he’s not even breathing. Like maybe if he stops he won’t be able to continue. “There’s no pretendin’ he don’t know exactly who you are. He said if I didn’t speak against the strike they’d go after you and I – I couldn’t let him do that.”

“Jack,” Davey says.

“He didn’t even call you David, Davey,” Jack says. That desperation is back in his voice again, and he’s taken a step toward Davey without even seeming to notice. “He used the name _I_ fucking gave you, and all I could think was – was you wouldn’t be in this mess, wouldn’t be in danger, if I didn’t drag you into it. So hate me if you want, Davey, I know I deserve it. But I couldn’t let’cha get hurt any more cause’a me.”

“Jack,” Davey repeats, and it comes out as a broken whisper.

“I’m sorry, Davey.” Davey believes him.

“Why come back?”

Jack takes a deep breath, finally breaking eye contact with a glance up toward the rooftop. “Katherine Plumber hunted me down. She’s got a plan and I think it’s gonna work to get us over the finish line with the strike.”

“Really?” says Davey. That’s great, if it’s true. He and Race and Spot talked for hours and came up empty handed. “That’s amazing.”

“I need’ja help, Davey,” Jack says. “We’re gonna print our own pape, call for a citywide strike of child workers. I need you and Racer to get the boys to the World so we can get it printed and distributed by the morning.”

Davey nods. “That’s – God, she’s a genius. There’s a press somewhere we can use?”

“In the cellar at the World building,” Jack says, nodding. “I slept on it last night.”

“Jack –“

“It’s fine,” says Jack, waving him off. “Can you do it?”

“I can.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.” Davey takes a deep breath. “I’ll probably forgive you eventually.”

“That’s more than I was hopin’ for, if I’m honest,” Jack replies. “Think you’n Racer could meet us at the World in, say, an hour?”

“You got it.”

“Great.”

Jack makes for the ladder downward, but Davey can’t help blurting out – “Jack?”

Jack freezes. “Yeah, Davey?”

“Don’t fucking do it again.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Jack says with a humorless laugh.

And then he’s gone.

If Davey weren’t still standing outside, he’d be sure he’d dreamed it. As is, he has to climb back in the window and creep over to Race on Albert’s bed, trying not to wake anyone else before he can explain what’s going on to Race.

(Waking Albert is inevitable, given how tightly the two of them are clinging to each other, but Davey wants to let the rest of the room sleep as long as possible. He has a feeling they’ve got a long night ahead of them.)

“Daves?” Race says sleepily. “Why’re you up?”

“You’re not gonna believe the conversation I just had.”

He explains, in hushed tones, Katherine’s plan. Jack’s apology. He can’t quite bring himself to say the words _he said he did it for me_ because when he opens his mouth to say them, they catch in his throat with the memory of the raw emotion in Jack’s eyes.

“This is isn’t a chance we can pass up,” Davey finishes.

Race, who has gone from blinking sleepily down at Davey to fully sitting up, enthralled, nods. Then his face falls. “Daves, what if – what if this is another trick? A trap?”

Jack’s pained expression comes back to the front of Davey’s mind. “I don’t think it is.” He bites his lip. “But in case it is, you’n’I can go in first, just to be safe. F’we get grabbed – well, at least the rest’a the boys’d be safe.”

“Okay.” Race slips off of the bed, jabbing Albert hard with his elbow as he does. “Up, you. Help us wake the others.”

Albert groans. “It’s still dark.”

“Ain’cha been listenin’ to Davey?” Race says. “It’s s’posed’ta be dark. We’re tryin’a be stealthy, dumbass.”

“Dunno why we wanna help Jack after the shit he pulled,” Albert grumbles, but he’s sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bunk, too.

“Because this is bigger than Jack fucking Kelly,” Davey says harshly. “And we can’t let Jack fucking us over get in the way of our cause.”

Albert looks at Davey with some surprise. Most of the boys haven’t heard Davey speak like that before. Race isn’t fazed by it, but Race spent a not insignificant part of tonight listening to Davey curse Jack’s very existence and he’s probably gotten used to it.

They set to waking the other boys.

No ambush awaits them at the World building, to Davey’s great relief. He’d been sure, almost sure, but – it’s hard to fully trust Jack anymore.

Katherine’s brought friends to help with the printing, and they’re the sons of two of the other newspaper owners because of course they are, because Katherine Plumber is actually Katherine Pulitzer and nobody thought to tell Davey.

They make quick work of printing their paper – just one page, with an article of Katherine’s that quotes Jack’s speech from that second day. _For the sake of every kid in every sweatshop, factory, and slaughterhouse in this city._

It’s compelling. Katherine is a good writer and Jack’s words are just as intense and powerful on the page as they had been to hear in person.

This might actually work.

God, Davey hopes this will work.

And, like, holy shit, because it _does_ work. Thousands of kids show up to the square, and Davey Jacobs is standing in Joseph fucking Pulitzer’s office like it’s no big deal.

He may or may not snap angrily at the most powerful man in the city, which – well.

It’s exhilarating, but not quite so much as the look Jack throws him immediately after. It’s a mix of pride and surprise and utter glee that sends Davey’s heart soaring, much to his almost immediate horror. Jack Kelly should not be doing anything to Davey’s heart.

 _Especially_ not after he’s already broken it.

But for all that Davey tends to appear a reasonable, intelligent boy, sometimes –

Sometimes his emotions get the better of him.

He grins back.

Jack comes to a final compromise with Pulitzer, and Governor Roosevelt ( _Governor Roosevelt!)_ announces the closure of the Refuge. Crutchie is returned to them shockingly whole, surprisingly happy. He’s seen better days but he’s in one piece in front of them and that’s a start.

Only then, at their moment of ultimate triumph, Jack is saying, “With the strike settled, I really should be movin’ on.”

And Davey, still riding the high of _winning_ and _yelling at powerful people_ , snaps, “Don’t you ever get tired of singing the same old tune? What’s Santa Fe got that New York ain’t, huh? Tarantulas?”

Jack opens his mouth to respond, but Katherine and Crutchie jump in in agreement.

He seems almost set on staying, so Davey and Crutchie turn away, joining the distribution line. Headlines wait for no newsie, after all.

Davey makes the mistake of glancing back over his shoulder toward Jack just as a cheer goes up among the boys – Jack has swept Katherine into a theatrical kiss.

He tries not to think too hard about the tight, closed-in feeling in his chest at the sight.

“Jack!” Davey calls, tucking his papers into his carrier bag. “Are you in or are you out?”

Jack and Katherine break apart and Jack makes his way to the counter, all the boys laughing and teasing. Jack smacks his coins down with an honestly ridiculous level of drama, then takes his papers and turns to Davey, that same blinding grin as he’d given him in Pulitzer’s office plastered on his face.

“You ready to get out there, Davey?” Jack says. It’s quiet, just for Davey despite the crowd of assembled newsboys all watching them. Like his echoes on the table at Jacobi’s.

Davey elbows Jack. “If you’re done kissin’ the boss’s daughter.”

Jack snorts. “Oh, God, Dave, don’t call’er that.”

“She is!” Davey teases.

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

Jack rolls his eyes. “Well don’t let it go to your head.”

It does a little, like a dizzy, fizzy buzz, but the two of them and Les lead the way out, away from the building and out into the world on which they’ve made their own real, tangible mark.

The newsies stopped the World.

Jack and Davey _changed_ the world, even if it’s just their little corner of it.

(And, almost as earthshattering, Jack and Davey changed each other. At least Jack changed Davey – but he’s almost sure it goes both ways.)


	5. What'cha thinkin' about, Davey?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, here we go into the post-strike storyline! I hope you guys like this as much as the first few chapters!

The first day after the strike is strange. It feels like a normal day – the boys pick up their papers, they disperse out into the city to sell – except for the fact that nothing about it is quite normal.

Weasel is subdued, not snapping back when the boys give him sass.

The Delancey brothers don’t meet anyone’s eye.

And once the boys get out into the world, there’s an energy in all of them that isn’t usually there. They feel invincible, unstoppable.

Everyone and their mother wants a paper today, too, wants to support the kids who changed the face of New York.

The novelty will wear off eventually, Davey knows, but for right now it’s the most incredible feeling ever.

The _second_ most incredible feeling ever is the feeling of Jack walking next to him, firmly anchored in New York with not a thought to leaving.

Davey has been, to this point, somewhat successful in ignoring the way Jack makes him feel. They’ve had a lot else going on, after all, and no time for Davey to sort out and catalogue every swooping, soaring, fluttering, aching feeling in his chest.

Some of those feelings were strike-related, but mostly –

Mostly they were about Jack.

Davey is no stranger to being attracted to boys by any means; he and the fluttering feeling in his chest when a pretty boy smiles at him are old friends. The speed at which that feeling had come on with Jack is new, as is the intensity. But Davey is attributing that to the rush of emotion that came with the strike. Everything had felt dialed up off the scale – fear, elation, and (for better or worse) growing attraction.

And then there’s the other thing.

Davey’s had his share of quiet crushes, sure, but he’s never had one on someone who he’d been anywhere near as close to as he is on Jack, boy or girl.

And he is extremely close to Jack.

Both metaphorically and – currently – physically.

“What’cha thinkin’ about, Davey?” Jack says, draped across Davey’s shoulders. It’s kind of impressive how easily he can throw himself over Davey like this, given that Davey has at least two inches of height on him.

“Nothing, Jackie,” Davey replies, because he has the good sense not to go blurting out the truth about things like this.

“You got’cha thinkin’ face on,” says Jack. He pulls a serious expression, staring distantly forward, then breaks out of it almost immediately with an easy smile. “Like that.”

Davey laughs. “Oh, yeah? Like that?”

“Just like that,” Jack says, nodding. He leans a little more of his weight onto Davey, making both of them stumble. “C’ _mon_ , Davey, what’s goin’ on in that big brain’a yours?”

“Nothing you need to worry about,” says Davey. “I promise!”

“Ain’t about worryin’,” Jack says. “Not for me, anyway. You’re my friend, Davey-boy, an’ if somethin’s got’cha pullin’ that face, I wanna help you sort it out.”

Davey smiles, leaning a little of his own weight onto Jack. “Thanks, but –“

“C’mon,” Jack pushes. “You can tell me!”

“Fine, fine,” Davey says, shaking his head with a laugh. “If I tell you a little will you _drop it_?”

“F’you want.”

“I’ve got a – I think I’m starting to fall for someone,” Davey admits carefully.

Jack grins. “You’ve got a crush? Who’s the lucky girl? What’s she like?”

“You said you were going to drop it,” says Davey.

“Aw, don’t get shy now,” says Jack. “Just one little detail?”

“She’s –“ Davey starts, biting his lip, “she’s incredibly persuasive. I find no matter what I do I can’t quite say no to her.”

“That’s impressive,” says Jack, “you’re stubborn as fuck.”

Davey can’t help but laugh at that.

They fall into a routine remarkably quickly after the strike, as their lives start falling back into normal patterns. It’s a routine they would’ve developed before the strike, except that they’d never had time.

Jack and Davey and Les meet at distribution in the mornings, trading teasing and playful jabs.

They buy their papers and brave the streets of New York. Les always sells out first, then takes a few of Davey’s papers at a time to help out. Jack sells out second. Davey is still hopeless, but he’s getting better.

They take a break after the morning edition – sometimes longer than others, depending on the headlines and the weather. Sometimes they’ll meet up with the other boys, sometimes they don’t.

They go back as a group to distribution for the evening edition and it all repeats all over again.

Jack has taken to prodding Davey every other day or so about his mysterious _girl_ , and he’s got Les enthusiastically on his side.

“C’mon, just tell me one more thing about her, huh?” Jack says as they walk into Jacobi’s. Most of their friends are already here.

“How come, huh?” Davey replies, blushing furiously. “What’s _your_ interest in it?”

“If you’d just _tell_ me about her, maybe I’d be able to help you figure out how to _woo_ her!”

“Oh, _you’d_ help _me_ –“

“Excuse me, Davey Jacobs, between the two of us, _I_ am the one who has charmed myself a sweetheart.”

“And I’m still not sure Kitty won’t come to her senses one of these days,” Davey teases, elbowing Jack’s side.

“I am a catch!” Jack says, playfully indignant.

“Sure, whatever you have to tell yourself to get through the day.”

“What are you two goin’ on about?” Race asks, looking amused.

Les rolls his eyes. “Davey’s got his eye on some girl and Jack’s tryin’a get’im to talk about her.”

“Davey’s got his eye on a girl?” Race repeats. “ _Our Davey_?”

Davey’s face is bright red, he’s sure of it. “What’s that s’posed’ta mean, Racer?”

“Only that you don’t seem the type for crushin’,” Race says, a teasing light in his eye. “Though’cha only had eyes for your books an’ such.”

Jack laughs. “I know! But you should hear’im talk about ‘er, when I can actually get’im to tell me anythin’. He goes all starry, just like the rest’a us.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Davey says, still blushing furiously.

“Oh, look at _you_ ,” Buttons chimes in. He throws an arm around Race’s shoulders, gesturing with his free hand across Davey. “He’s red as a tomato.”

“What’s her name?” Albert asks.

“He won’t say!” Les says, rolling his eyes again. “Jack’s been tryin’a get it outta him for _days_.”

Davey is suddenly very, very interested in the fraying laces of his shoes.

“Aw, c’mon, Davey,” Crutchie pleads.

“No,” Davey says softly.

“Leave off’im,” Race says. Davey looks up, startled. He’d kind of thought this was going to go on until they left to pick up their evening papers, so he’s surprised someone other than him is cutting the discussion off. There’s something knowing in Race’s eye, though, and his tone leaves no room for argument.

The conversation shifts to the odd encounter Buttons had this morning with a grocer, and Davey disentangles himself from Jack to sit next to Race.

“Thanks,” says Davey.

“No worries,” Race replies. He bumps his shoulder against Davey’s. “Ain’t a girl, is it?”

Davey frowns down at the tabletop. Just more than a breath, he says, “No.”

“Is it Jack?” Race asks just as quietly. Barely audible over the chaos of the assembled newsies.

“That obvious, am I?” Davey replies drily.

“He blew into your life like a goddamn hurricane,” says Race. “How could it be anyone else?”

Davey hums. “I wish he’d lay off.”

“He just wants to see you happy,” Race says. Davey doesn’t need telling this, he just wishes Jack could see that he’d be happier if the topic of potential sweethearts for Davey never came up again.

“I know.”

Race bumps his shoulder against Davey’s again. “You got this, Daves. He’ll find somethin’ else to go on about before long.”

And will Davey miss the level of attention? He hopes he won’t, but –

Jack’s unwavering dedication to prying details about Davey’s crush out of him hasn’t been all bad, after all. Jack Kelly is an intense, energetic person and to have all that intensity and energy directed at him is slightly intoxicating, even if the precise direction of that energy leaves him wanting somewhat.

“Here’s hoping.”

Katherine arrives, just then, and Jack jumps up from the other end of the table to greet her.

“Light of my life!” he says dramatically, taking her hand and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “What good fortune brings you to grace us with your presence?”

Katherine laughs. “You knew I was coming to lunch, Jack.”

“Don’t mind him, he’s playing up how good he is at romance to win over Davey,” Crutchie says, rolling his eyes.

“To win over –“

“Davey’s got a crush on a girl and Jack wants to help him with her,” Albert clarifies. “Davey’s got too much good sense to take him up on that, though.”

Jack throws his hat at Albert, who ducks it.

“That’s wise, Davey,” Katherine says, still laughing.

“Hey!” says Jack, his attention fully on her again. He tugs her by the hand he’s holding into a hug, which earns him a peck on the cheek.

Despite the slight ache that Davey is just now starting to identify as jealousy growing in his chest, Davey smiles at the sight. He likes Katherine a lot, once she’d cooled the attitude a little. She’s quick-witted and funny, and sometimes feels like the only island of sanity in the ocean of chaos that is the newsies. And anyway, Jack adores her.

It might be easier on Davey if he hated her, if he didn’t love her company himself enough to offset the pain that surfaces from seeing how gone Jack is over her.

(It’s harder to keep his head on straight about it when she isn’t actually present, and Jack is just gushing over how brilliant and talented and wonderful she is and Davey is left wondering _would he say those things about me_?)

“He’s not giving you too much trouble, is he Davey?” Katherine asks, grinning over at him.

Davey smiles back, and it isn’t even forced. “Oh, Kitty, he ain’t anything I can’t handle.”

“Good,” says Katherine, “I wouldn’t want you getting tired of him – I’d never hear the end of the whining.”

“ _Hey_!” Jack cuts in, but it’s barely audible over the boys’ laughter.

“Ain’t you curious too, Kathy?” Les asks, because Les is a little shit.

Katherine meets Davey’s eye, her smile fading from laughter to something a little more soft and sympathetic. Davey feels oddly seen. “No. I’m sure he’ll tell us about her in his own time.”

Davey shoots her a grateful smile. He’s not planning on opening up any time soon, but he appreciates her giving him the space to keep his mouth shut. “Maybe one of these days.”


	6. I ain't kiddin', Davey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you ever stand at work working out dialogue behind your mask because nobody can see you talking to yourself?  
> No?  
> Just me?

Davey really likes being a newsie, all told. He likes it a lot more than he expected to, that’s for damned sure.

He doesn’t miss school – doesn’t miss the way his classmates talk to him or the looks he gets from teachers, doesn’t miss not having a friend in the world but his twin sister – but he does worry for Les. Les doesn’t worry for Les, but Les is ten and hates school, so that’s easily forgivable.

Anyway, Davey is almost sure Les doesn’t really know how likely it is that they won’t be able to go back to school. He’s been trying really hard to keep it away from Les, after all, and he’d actually be pretty disappointed with himself if Les _does_ know.

“Davey?” Jack asks, elbowing Davey’s upper arm. “You okay?”

“Hmm?”

“Your face just went all –“ Jack makes a vague gesture at his own face. “Serious, I guess. What’cha thinkin’ about?”

“School,” Davey replies. He spends more time than he’d like to lying to Jack about what’s on his mind, but that’s only because he spends more time than he’d like with _Jack_ on his mind. It feels nice to be able to be unthinkingly honest for once. “Les. Les _going_ to school. I don’t know.”

“Sounds like you do know,” says Jack. He follows Davey’s gaze to where he’s watching Les play with one of the other younger boys. “Your dad ain’t gettin’ any better?”

“Not enough. Not any time soon,” says Davey, shrugging. “I know it’s probably insensitive to say in a room full of people who stopped going to school around his age or younger, but the idea that Les might not go back makes me feel physically ill sometimes. Like I’m not doing enough for him.”

“You’re doin’ as much as you possibly can for Les and your family,” Jack replies. He wraps his arm around Davey’s waist, pulling him tight to his side. “Ain’t your fault if that’s not enough to make up for your dad bein’ outta work. Ain’t a bad thing to want somethin’ better’n this for Les, either. None’a us should be stuck doin’ this.”

Davey sighs, leaning into Jack a little. “Thanks, Jackie.”

“Ain’cha worried about _you_ goin’ back?”

“Not really,” Davey admits. “I’m probably lucky I got as much as I did, you know? And anyway, I’m a lot happier with you guys than I ever was there.”

“Really?” says Jack, looking surprised. “I’d’a thought a smart guy like you’d be itchin’ to get back to school.”

Davey laughs. “You’re always callin’ me smart, Jackie, but –“

“David Jacobs don’t you dare finish that sentence,” Jack interrupts. “As if you ain’t the smartest guy I know.”

“I’m sure that’s not true, I’ve met Race,” says Davey, shaking his head. “Did you just call me David?”

“It felt appropriate.”

“It felt weird as fuck, don’t do it again.”

“How come? S’ya name,” says Jack.

Davey wrinkles his nose. “Have you really not noticed?”

“What?”

“First of all,” Davey starts, throwing his own arm around Jack’s shoulders, “ _you_ never call me David. Sounds weird comin’ outta your mouth.”

“And second?” Jack prompts when Davey doesn’t continue right away.

“Jackie, _nobody_ calls me David anymore,” Davey says softly. “Save my parents. Everybody else I know – including my _siblings_ – calls me Davey now. S’all ‘cause’a you, too. Nobody’d ever used it before that first day I knew you, and suddenly it’s all anybody ever uses.”

“Really?” says Jack. He twists out of Davey’s arm a little, pulling back so he can turn to face him a little more fully.

“You are incredible,” says Davey, shaking his head. “You haven’t noticed.”

“I haven’t noticed,” Jack echoes.

“You completely renamed me, Jack,” Davey tells him. “And you didn’t even notice!”

“In my defense, I give lots’a nicknames,” says Jack. “I knew it’d stuck – I _told_ you, Davey, it’s how Joe broke me. But I didn’t know you was in so deep your real name’d sound _wrong_.”

Davey laughs. “You are somethin’ else, Jackie.”

“Ain’t like you haven’t given me one, too,” Jack replies. “Callin’ me _Jackie_ all the time.”

“I don’t use it that often,” says Davey. He can feel his cheeks heating up a little bit, though. “And anyway, that’s not the same. Nobody but me calls you that, ‘cept Spot when he’s bein’ bitchy.”

Jack snorts. “I ever told you how much I love hearin’ you curse, Davey?”

“From time to time.”

“It’s fuckin’ delightful.”

“I aim to please,” Davey says, rolling his eyes.

“I kinda like that it’s only you that calls me that, y’know,” says Jack.

“Is that so?”

Jack nods, giving him a small, sort of distant smile. “You’re somethin’ special, Davey. I mean – you’re important to me. Figures you’d have somethin’ all your own to call me, y’know?”

Davey does _not_ know, is caught completely off guard by this statement that Jack gives like it’s an obvious fact, but before he can ask Jack for any kind of clarification, he’s called away by Crutchie. He gives Davey one last little pat on the shoulder before he walks away, leaving Davey sitting alone, completely stunned.

A few days later, they’re in the same position – perched side-by-side on the edge of a lower bunk, watching the chaos of the newsies from the outskirts. They spend a lot of time like this, Jack and Davey do.

“So how’s things been goin’ with your girl?” Jack asks, leaning on Davey a little.

“They’re going nowhere, Jackie,” says Davey, pushing back against Jack. “Since she’s not interested in me.”

Jack laughs. “Then she’s dumb.”

“What?”

“If she ain’t interested in you then she’s gotta dumb as hell,” Jack reiterates. “I mean, you’re a catch!”

It’s Davey’s turn to laugh at that. “Oh, yeah. Sure.”

“I ain’t kiddin’, Davey,” says Jack. “You’re funny as hell, and you’re the smartest guy I know –“

“Race –“

“Mastermind of the fuckin’ newsie strike, sittin’ here tryin’a tell me he ain’t smart,” Jack says, shaking his head. “And, I mean, _look_ at you.”

“Yeah, look at me,” Davey says, rolling his eyes. He gestures vaguely across himself. “Not much to see.”

“You jokin’ me, Jacobs?” says Jack. He shifts away from Davey a little, turning to face him. Davey finds himself mirroring Jack’s position. “You’re all tall, with your perfect curls –“ He reaches over and ruffles Davey’s hair, “an’ just about the prettiest face I’ve ever seen? That girl oughtta be fallin’ all over’erself to catch your eye.”

Davey is not entirely sure he’s breathing. Jack’s hand is resting on his cheek, fingers still woven into his hair. He tries to play it off, but his voice just comes out a little shaky and breathless.

“Careful there, Kelly. A guy might get the wrong idea. Might start thinkin’ _you’re_ tryin’ to catch my eye.”

“Davey –“

“Jackie.”

Just then, there’s a crash and a thud and a shriek, and Davey and Jack snap out of their moment. It’s like they’d been in a bubble, the rest of the world had gone hazy and distorted outside of it. Then the bubble popped, and Race is on the floor and one of the bunk beds has fallen over somehow and they’re not Davey and Jack having a personal moment, they’re Davey and Jack who are in charge of these idiots and can’t take their eyes off of them for _thirty fucking seconds._

“Racetrack Higgins,” Jack says, standing up. “How the _fuck_.”

“In my defense,” Race says, scrambling away from the fallen bed, “I was dared.”

“That is a _shit defense!”_ says Jack. “Which one of you fuckers dared him?”

“Who do you think?” Crutchie says flatly.

“Al, I swear to God –“

“It was Romeo’s idea!”

“Way to throw me under the bus, _Albert_.”

Davey lets Jack handle the rest of the boys, moving across the room to kneel next to Race on the floor. “Are you okay, Racer?”

“I’ve had worse falls,” Race says, shrugging. “Gonna bruise but that ain’t the end’a the world.”

“You’re the smartest person I know, Race, but sometimes you’re almost painfully dumb,” Davey replies.

“That’s not true, I’ve met’cha sister.”

“Race.”

“Are you a’right, Davey? You look pale.”

“You scared the hell outta me.”

“You was pale before. What was you and Jack talkin’ about?”

Davey bites his lower lip. “The usual.”

“You was sittin’ real close,” says Race. He grips Davey’s wrist lightly. “ _Davey_.”

“Oh my God, Race, was this a distraction?” Davey says quietly.

“I dunno what you’re talking about.”

“You’re a life saver.” Davey pulls Race into a brief hug, then puts his hands on the younger boy’s shoulders and shakes him gently. “Don’t fucking do it again.”

“No promises, Davey-boy.”


	7. hey, Davey?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one took me longer to pull together than I would've liked and I"m still not really 100% happy with it, but here we are.  
> Enter two more ways this fic is Very Me!
> 
> Also, I had the realisation this week that there's someone I know irl who is very into Newsies, and idk if she's involved in the fandom but if she is/if she's reading this, Hi Faith!

“Hey, Jack, can I borrow your man for the day?” Race says. It’s a cool autumn morning, the first biting chill of impending winter just creeping in.

“Sorry, what?” says Davey.

As if Davey hadn’t spoken, Jack says, “Suit yourself. Davey, you wanna go with Racer for the day? I can still keep an eye on Les.”

“I – sure, but can we go back to –“

But Jack is gone with Les, leaving Davey standing side-by-side with Race, completely baffled.

“ _His man_?” Davey echoes, stunned.

“He knew what I meant,” says Race.

“Why?”

“Who the hell else would it have been?”

“Race –“

“Da _vey_.”

Davey opens his mouth, but stops, taking in Race’s appearance. He looks tired, with deep circles under his blue eyes. His hat is missing and his hair is fluffy and mussed, like he’s been dragging his hands through it and fussing with it. Even his clothes are askew. “Shit, Race, you look like hell.”

“Feel it, too,” Race mumbles. He seems to deflate a little.

“What’s wrong?” Davey asks gently.

Race runs his fingers through his hair. “Jack’s rules are f’we ain’t feelin’ good we gotta have a buddy to sell. Just in case, y’know. Usually I tag on with Albo, but –“

“You’re not feeling well?” says Davey.

“My eyeballs are at war with the rest of my body,” Race says. He rubs little circles on his temples for a moment before continuing to speak. “It happens.”

“You sure you’re up to workin’ today, Racer?” Davey asks.

“Don’t gotta choice.” Race shrugs. “Can’t afford the day off right now. Just gotta keep it together. You know what that’s like?”

Davey, who has dragged himself out of the house through his fair share of ailments physical, mental, and emotional, nods. “Lemme know if you need a breather or anything. Take breaks.”

“This is why I came to you,” Race says, smiling fondly. “God, you’re such a mother hen.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Davey raises an eyebrow.

“No!” Race replies quickly. “Not a bit, Davey. I tol’ja, that’s why I wanted to be with you today. You look out for us.” He tucks his hands into his pockets. “Well, that and – I figured you need a break from Jack from time to time.”

Davey sighs. “Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

It’s a nice day with Race. They take it pretty easy – neither of them have a _ton_ of papers to sell, with Race having bought conservatively knowing he wasn’t feeling well and Davey having sent Les off with a significant chunk of his – taking frequent breaks for Race to collect himself. They talk about all kinds of things, and none of those things are Jack.

By the time they’re done for the day, they’re walking arm-in-arm, Race leaning pretty heavily on Davey but still talking animatedly about knitting. Davey doesn’t remember how they got here, but here they certainly are.

“N’anyway, s’not like I really _want_ to go makin’ socks, because heels freak me out,” Race is saying, his free hand fluttering around as he speaks. “Buttons keeps sayin’ he’ll help me get better at’em, but I’d rather make a hat, you know?”

“Sure,” says Davey, laughing.

“You know how to knit, Davey?”

“I can’t say I do, Racer. I can sew alright, though.”

“Nah, see, I can’t do the itty bitty needle thing. I always end up bleedin’ all over everythin’ I’m workin’ on.”

Davey laughs again. “Whatever you say.”

Race laughs too, but softer. He squeezes his eyes shut tight for a moment before saying anything. “I gotta have somethin’ to fiddle with, y’know? An’ that’s all knitting is, really. Just some fancy fiddlin’ that ends you up with a useful thing.”

“Every minute I spend with you, I learn more,” Davey says, shaking his head. “You’re an odd creature, Racetrack Higgins. I’m sure I won’t figure you out any time soon.”

“Damn straight,” Race says with a grin. His smile fades a little. They’re approaching the lodging house, where they’ll meet up with Jack and Les and the others. “’Ey, Davey? You ever gonna tell Jack –“

“No,” Davey interrupts. “No, never.”

“Ain’t anythin’ wrong with –“

“Race,” says Davey. “He’s – he’s got Kath, and even if he didn’t, he’s – he’d have better options than me.”

“First of all _no_ ,” Race says, “ain’t nobody better for Jack Kelly out there than you. An’ I love Kitty, you know I do, but – Davey.”

“Race –“

“You’n Jack are a good team,” says Race, “a real good team. The kinda team makes ya really believe somethin’ good still exists in the world. F’only because you two believe real hard that there is, and you make everybody else wanna believe it, too.”

“We’re a team whether it’s – _like that_ or not.”

“M’just sayin’.”

“Usually you put yourself _between_ me and Jack.”

“Only ‘cause you get this look in your eye when Jack gets all lovey on you,” says Race. “Like the other day when he was playin’ with your hair an’I tipped the bunk bed? You was all stiff an’ pale an’ shit. I could see you needed an out. But if you ain’t gonna talk about it with Jack then you gotta talk about it with me, ‘cause otherwise you’s just bottlin’ it all up.”

“I don’t bottle anything up,” Davey says halfheartedly.

“I study you, too, y’know, Jacobs,” says Race, rolling his eyes. “You gotcha little tells and shit – I know you talk about your crush to Jack in vague ways, but it ain’t the same.”

“What ain’t the same?” Jack’s voice says from behind them, making both boys nearly jump out of their skin.

“I’s just tellin’ Davey here that he oughtta tell _me_ ‘bout that girl he’s sweet on, since he ain’t keen on tellin’ you,” Race lies easily, patting Davey’s cheek. Then he leans toward Jack, lowering his voice to a stage whisper. “Although, ‘tween you’n’me I reckon the real reason you’s so eager to know ‘bout’er is that _you’s_ sweet on _Davey.”_

Jack splutters a protest. It includes both “no” and “Katherine” several times.

Davey, laughing, can’t help but wonder whether Race might actually be onto something.

He and Les don’t stay late with the boys that night, having promised to help their mother with her work at home tonight. As they walk, Les frowns up at Davey.

“Hey, Davey?”

“What’s up, Les?”

“I know Racer was jokin’, but I ain’t so sure Jack _ain’t_ sweet on you,” Les says slowly.

Davey stops dead. “Les, you can’t say things like that.”

“How come?” Les says, brow furrowed. “It’s true.”

“Because you could get Jack – and maybe me – into trouble, which you _know_ ,” Davey says quietly. “And because Jack isn’t sweet on me. He’s seeing Kathy.”

Les rolls his eyes. “Nobody’s around to hear. Anyway, I _know_ Jack’s sweet on Kathy. He talks about her all the time.” His frown deepens a little. “Only he talks about you the same way, when you ain’t around.”

“He does?” Davey says, and he _hates_ how quickly he says it, how eager he sounds.

“He does.” Les crosses his arms. “Wait a minute. Wait a _minute_. That girl you’re sweet on ain’t a girl, is it? It’s Jack! Oh my God –“

“Les!”

“It is!” says Les, throwing his arms into the air. “ _Davey_.”

“You can’t tell anyone,” Davey says, because denying it feels pointless. Les may be ten, but he isn’t stupid.

“I won’t,” Les says. “Ugh, now I _know_. It was already so annoying when he was tryin’a pry shit outta you, but now –“

“Watch your mouth,” Davey interrupts.

“You don’t tell the other boys off for cursin’.”

“The other boys don’t have mothers who will kill their older brothers if they heard them speak like that.”

Les rolls his eyes. “Mama wouldn’t kill you.”

“I’m responsible for you when we’re working,” Davey says. He grabs Les’s hat and swats him with it. “So watch your mouth.”

Les grabs his hat back from Davey. “I’ll watch my mouth. _If_ you admit you’re sweet on Jack.”

“Shh,” Davey says.

“Da _vey_ –“

“Fine, yes, okay?” says Davey. “Yes. It’s Jack. And if you know what’s good for you you’ll keep it to yourself.”

“I’d have kept it to myself without the _threat_ , thank you,” Les says, tucking his hands into this pockets. “I got’cha back, Davey.”

“Oh, yes, between you and Racetrack I’m well looked after,” Davey says, his tone playful. “A tiny ten year old and a stringbean, my protectors. What would I do without you?”

Les laughs, shoving him. “I happen to be tall for my age.”

“You happen to be short as hell.”

“Am not,” Les insists, standing as tall as he can.

Davey grins. “You are. But believe me, you’ll grow.”

On impulse, he drags Les into a hug with one arm. Davey has never been especially tactile, even with his siblings, but with how the newsies are it’s hard not to have picked it up.

“ _Ugh_ what’s this for?” Les says, halfheartedly trying to push Davey away for a moment before giving into the hug.

“Thanks, Les,” Davey replies softly. “Not everybody would take – would take all this in stride, you know.”

Les shrugs. “You’re my brother, Davey. Even if you got weird taste in crushes.”

“Weird?” Davey repeats, chuckling. He steps away from Les, one hand still on his shoulder.

“Well, yeah,” says Les. “I mean, why Jack when there’s all kindsa pretty girls out there?”

“Sometimes, somebody walks into your life and completely rearranges it. S’hard not to get hung up on’em when they do,” says Davey.

Les hums. “I guess that makes sense.” He elbows Davey’s side. “You seem happier now.”

“I am happier,” says Davey. “I don’t think I even realized I wasn’t happy until I was.”

“I’m happy, too.”

Davey snatches Les’s hat again, then ruffles his hair. “Yeah, buddy. I know.”


	8. Davey, he adores you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anybody's playing Finn's Brand Bingo: enter Buttons.

It’s honestly remarkable that he hasn’t broken before now. Completely shocking. Unbelievable.

“For the love of God, Jack, lay off!” Davey snaps.

“Woah! Okay!” Jack says, stepping back with his hands raised in surrender. “I just wanna help –“

“You’re not helping,” says Davey. “You’re not, Jack, because there’s no doing anything about it, because I can’t, because it’s –“

He breaks off abruptly.

“What is it, Davey?” Jack says gently.

“It’s impossible,” Davey replies, quieter. “Jack, it’s not a girl.”

“Oh,” says Jack. “Oh.”

“Yeah, so –“

“That don’t mean it’s impossible,” says Jack, shaking his head. “You just gotta be careful. I didn’t know you were queer, Davey.”

Davey shrugs. “I don’t exactly advertise it.”

“Nobody does, I guess,” Jack replies thoughtfully. “That why you’ve been so cagey ‘bout it all?”

“Yeah,” Davey lies.

“S’it one’a the guys?”

Davey resists the urge to sigh deeply. “Yeah.”

“Is it Racer? You two’s real –“

“It’s not Race,” Davey cuts in, laughing. “No, God. I love Race, but like another little brother.” He wrinkles his nose. “A little brother whose decision making I worry about constantly. Did you see what he and Albert did to Morris Delancey the other day?

Jack smiles. “Yeah, I saw. Dumbasses.” He elbows Davey. “So if it ain’t Racer, who is it?”

Davey almost spills the whole thing right then and there. He can only resist Jack for so long, even about really important things.

And not spilling the one real secret he has from Jack is definitely a really important thing.

“Ugh, fine,” Davey says to buy himself time as he casts around for a believable lie. Someone around their age, someone he’s friendly with, someone who could more or less fit the fragments of description Davey’s already given – someone, _anyone,_ who isn’t Jack. “It’s, uh, Buttons.”

“Oh,” Jack says, and there’s something odd in his voice that Davey can’t quite place.

“Yeah.”

“You should – you should say somethin’ to him, Davey,” Jack says, and that odd note is still there. “You never know. And Buttons ain’t gonna give you shit for bein' queer if he don’t feel the same.”

“Jack, I don’t think –“

“C’mon, Dave, you’ve been all starry-eyed over’im for months,” says Jack. “S’worth a shot, ain’t it?”

Which is how Davey ends up pulling Buttons aside that evening, while Jack gives him a thumbs up from across the room.

“What’s up, Davey?” Buttons says.

“You know how Jack’s been on my case about that _girl_ I’m sweet on?” Davey says quietly.

“Doesn’t everybody?” says Buttons, rolling his eyes. “Honestly, he’s gotta be the only one who doesn’t realize it’s _him_ you’re talking about.”

“Don’t I know it,” says Davey. “So the thing is, I may have let slip today that it’s not a girl –“

“How’s that end with him shoving you at _me?”_

“Well, I couldn’t exactly say _well, Jack, it’s you, kindly leave me the fuck alone about it_.”

Buttons’s eyes go wide. “Davey, you didn’t.”

“I told him it was you.”

“You did.” Buttons shakes his head. “Davey, you know, honesty is really –“

“I am _not_ telling him, Buttons,” says Davey. “Not while he’s got Kathy and not six hours after I lied to him about it.”

“You know if I ‘reject’ you he’s gonna be all over you, right?” says Buttons. He glances over Davey’s shoulder, toward Jack, then he looks back at Davey with a softer expression.

“Oh, fuck.”

“Yeah,” says Buttons. He takes a slow breath, then reaches for Davey’s hand. “I can cover for you, though. If you want.”

“Why would you do that for me?” Davey asks, frowning.

Buttons smiles, shaking his head. “Because you’re a good guy, Dave, and you helped all of us more than you know by takin’ the reigns of the strike. You’re one’a those people who’ll do just about anythin’ for your friends. Least I can do is do you a little favor to keep Jack off your back.”

“Thank you,” Davey says. He’s surprised, to say the least.

These boys give him too much credit, really.

“Of course,” says Buttons. He squeezes Davey’s hand. “Jack’s still watching us. Is it okay if I kiss your cheek?”

“Buttons, you really don’t have to.”

“It’s _okay_.”

“Fine, then.”

Buttons nods with a small smile, then leans forward and just barely brushes his lips across Davey’s cheekbone. As he pulls back, Davey sees his eyes flick over to Jack again.

“He looks like a fish,” Buttons says, chuckling quietly. “Give’im a thumbs up or something.”

Davey twists so he can look at Jack. Sure enough, the other boy is watching with his eyes and mouth wide – although he schools his face into a wide grin that makes Davey’s heart flutter very much despite himself. Davey gives him a little thumbs up. Jack mirrors him, then looks away.

“Dunno why he’s so shocked,” Davey says, rolling his eyes as he turns back toward Buttons. “Talking to you was his idea.”

“It’s because he likes you, too, dumbass,” Buttons says. “An’ I doubt he thought through how watchin’ you with somebody else would feel.”

“Oh,” says Davey. “You think?”

Buttons laughs. “Yes, oh my God. Don’t you have _eyes_? Davey, he fucking adores you.”

Davey ducks his head. “That’s not nice to say, Buttons. He’s still seeing Kitty.”

“He is,” Buttons concedes. “But if you really want to do this thing –“ he waves vaguely between the two of them with one hand, “you’re seeing _me_. Don’t mean what’cha feel ain’t still there.”

“I suppose,” says Davey.

After that, Davey makes a point of gravitating toward Buttons when the boys are all together. They sit together on the edge of the group at the lodging house or at Jacobi’s, which gives Davey an occasional breather from Jack that he hadn’t even realized he needed.

Davey is finding that he likes Buttons a lot, actually. He’d known he liked Buttons well enough, but they’ve clicked as friends better than Davey was expecting. They didn’t really know each other personally before, but now that they’re spending all kinds of time together they’ve gotten to know each other pretty well.

He’s learned that Buttons is an oldest sibling, too, and that just like Davey he has a family he’s trying to help support by selling papers. That he’s sixteen, a little shy of a year younger than Davey. That his real name is Benjamin and he hates it. That he’s never actually had an interest in anyone romantically, and pretending to be involved with Davey has gotten Romeo and Crutchie off his back about the whole thing for the first time in ages.

“So really, you’re doing me a favor too,” Buttons finishes in a soft voice. They’re sitting side-by-side on a lower bunk in the lodging house, watching Race teach the littles poker. This confession was brought on by Davey thanking him, again, for going along with this odd little scheme to keep Jack from fussing over him. “Even after we drop this fake romance or whatever, now I’ve shown interest in _somebody_ I think they’ll calm down.”

“Then I’m happy to help,” says Davey. He wraps an arm around Buttons’s shoulders and pulls him tight to his side. “And if anybody gives you any trouble, they answer to me.”

Buttons laughs. “I’m sorry, Davey, but you ain’t exactly intimidating.”

“People listen to me, Buttons!” Davey says, mock offended.

“Yeah, ‘cause you made ya’self their mother, not because you’re scary,” says Buttons, still grinning. He drops his head onto Davey’s shoulder. “Thanks, though.”

“Of course,” says Davey. He presses a small kiss to Buttons’s forehead. As he turns his head back toward the group, Jack – sitting across the way from them – catches his eye. He has the look of someone who’s been caught staring and made a point of doing something else, having busied himself with his sketchbook.

There’s something sour in his expression that Davey can’t help but notice. He puts it out of his mind – if something is bothering Jack, Jack will tell him what it is in his own time.

And he does.

A few days later, as they walk with their papers to their usual selling spot through the crisp early winter air, Jack says, “Kath and I split up.”

“Oh,” says Davey, which is not helpful. He winds the arm that’s nearer to Jack around the shorter boy’s waist, tugging him a little closer. “I’m sorry to hear that. Are you okay?”

Jack shrugs, which Davey feels more than sees. “Yeah. I mean, s’been kinda fallin’ apart for a while now, y’know? I love her, but it was all so –“ he waves vaguely in front of them. “It was all tied up in the strike and shit. Adrenaline and all that? So it’s been fading pretty much since the beginning.”

“I’m sorry,” Davey repeats. He tries to replay their previous conversation in his head, looking for what brought on Jack’s sudden confession. He can’t figure it out.

“Thanks.”

“When, uh, when did it happen?”

“Couple’a days ago.”

“And you’re just telling me now?” Davey pauses, biting down on his lower lip. “Jack, be honest with me. Are you alright?”

Jack shrugs again. “Fine. I’m fine. It was bound to happen sooner or later; saves the both’a us some heartbreak if it’s sooner, I guess.”

“Still sucks,” says Davey. “Jackie, why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“Dunno,” Jack says. “You’ve been all happy with Buttons –“

Okay, there it is. Davey had mentioned Buttons offhand, something funny the other boy had told him the other day over lunch. That must've been what set Jack off.

“Jackie. You gotta tell me this kinda stuff. I don’t want you hurtin’ alone.”

Jack gives him a weak smile for that. “Of course. You always wanna look out for us.”

“Especially you, Jackie,” says Davey. “Since you’re always busy lookin’ out for everybody but yourself.” He stops, turning to face Jack. “Why now?”

“Maybe I realized I needed lookin’ after,” Jack says quietly.

“Oh, Jack,” says Davey, pulling Jack into a proper hug. “Jackie, love, I’ve got you.”

Jack drops his head onto Davey’s shoulder. “Yeah, Davey. I know you do.”


	9. That you, Davey?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Finley finally gets her shit together and makes plot progress.

“Look, Davey, I’m not saying we shouldn’t split up, I’m just saying you need to be careful,” Buttons says. “Jack’s still really fragile, I dunno if this is the best time to go pursuing anything. Or letting him pursue _you_.”

“I didn’t say I was going to pursue him,” Davey replies, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You didn’t have to, _darling_ ,” says Buttons, rolling his eyes. He bumps his shoulder against Davey’s. “I know you.”

“Know me less, would you?” says Davey. He leans his own weight back against Buttons.

“Can’t,” Buttons says. “You decided to get involved with me, you’re stuck now. By the by, if you _do_ want to split up, you better not stop talking to me. I’ve gotten annoyingly attached to you.”

Davey laughs. “Picture that, my very own sweetheart is _annoyed_ that he’s attached to me. How will I ever get over the blow to my ego –“

“Ah, shut up,” says Buttons, also laughing. “You know I love you, you fuckin’ _dork_ , don’t let it go to your head.”

“Do you?”

“Of course. You’re an easy guy to love, Davey.”

Davey is still occasionally blown away by the easy affection among the newsies. The ways they’ll hang all over each other and the way they throw around _I love you_ s to their friends like it’s nothing – or, rather, like it’s everything, but like their friends are everything. With so little family proper there’s no shortage of affection and love for the family they’ve created.

And somewhere, somehow, Davey’s become a part of all that.

“If you say so,” says Davey. And then, because he really is one of them now, “I love you, too, you know.”

Buttons hums, smiling a little distantly. “Yeah, I know.” He shifts his weight again, pushing back against Davey. “You gotta be careful, Dave. Give him time, feel him out. I don’t wanna see you gettin’ hurt.”

“I ain’t gonna get hurt,” says Davey, shaking his head firmly.

“You keep saying that,” says Buttons. “You believe it hard enough, maybe it’ll even be true.”

There’s a newsie union meeting not long after Jack and Katherine split up, the first time since the strike that this many newsies from this many neighborhoods have been in one place. Medda graciously agrees to host them again, for which Davey is incredibly grateful.

Davey is late.

He’s not especially concerned about being late – Jack and Race have the agenda, and he trusts Spot to keep them on task – but he is painfully aware of it. He keeps glancing at the sky, watching the sun fall lower and lower, as he walks. It’s a good thing Les isn’t with him; he’s taking strides fully three times the length of his little brother’s average step.

“Sorry,” Davey says, slipping easily between Jack and Race like they’d left the space just for him. Maybe they had. “I had to walk my sister home from work. She – I didn’t expect it to take so long, but we had to go the long way. For reasons.”

Jack just nods. “Sarah okay?”

“Better than yesterday,” Davey replies with a shrug. “She’s sturdy. A couple more days and she’ll be annoyed I’m still _insisting on walking her_.”

“Sounds like your sister,” says Jack.

“Sorry,” Davey says again, this time directed a little more clearly to Spot and the others.

Spot waves him off. “Don’t worry about it. Jackie and I ain’t killed each other yet.”

“And we’re going to keep it that way,” Davey says firmly. “Where were you?”

The meeting resumes, as if Davey had been there the whole time. After a while it dissolves into a more informal gathering, as had always been the plan. Davey and Race’s idea to foster better interpersonal relationships between the newsies from different neighborhoods.

Spot finds Davey a little later in the evening. “Your sister alright?”

Davey nods. “She had a scare last week with a boy who works in a store she passes on her walk home. He was coming on a little strong and implied he’d follow her home – so I’ve been walking her. I’m not exactly the most intimidating figure, but –“

“Sometimes even a skinny thing like you is all it takes,” Spot says, nodding.

“Oh, you’re one to talk,” says Davey. He rolls his eyes, gesturing to indicate the eight inches of height between them.

Spot punches his upper arm, but it’s playful. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll shut up about my height, Davey-boy.”

“I’m real scared,” Davey says, dripping with sarcasm. He knows Spot could soak him without a problem if he wanted, but he also knows that Spot respects him too much to pick a fight over something dumb like this. “Anyway, I’m real sorry for showin’ up so late. Didn’t mean to inflict Jackie on you alone for so long.”

“Nah, you look out for your sister,” Spot says, shaking his head. “Got a kid sister myself, I know how that goes.”

“ _You’ve_ got a sister?” Davey replies, shocked. “I didn’t realize you had any flesh-and-blood family you still spoke to, Spot.”

Spot nods subtly toward his second-in-command – a girl with a compact build and solid bearing who goes by Hotshot – where she’s having a conversation with Race. It’s a highly animated conversation on Race’s side, with Hotshot more long-suffering than entertained. Now Davey is looking, he can see the resemblance to Spot in Hotshot; they have the same dark hair and eyes, and while Davey knows Hotshot is fourteen years old, she’s one of the smallest newsies in the room.

“Niamh would tell you she’s more my keeper than the other way ‘round,” Spot says, “but I’ve had to get her out of her share of scrapes. Most guys wouldn’t dare mess with’er now, though.”

“She’s certainly intimidating,” says Davey. “Though I’m sure she learned that from the best.”

Spot gives him a wide grin for that. “Damn straight. Hey, on the subject’a _not_ intimidating people – how’s things with you and Jack?”

“What’s it to you?” Davey says suspiciously.

“Only that he mentioned you every other sentence ‘fore you got here,” says Spot. “But Racer says you’re seein’ some other guy you ain’t even into.”

“It’s complicated.”

“Why?” Spot says flatly. Never one to pull his punches is Spot Conlon. “I’m not one to go meddlin’ in romances, Davey-boy, but I ain’t ever seen anybody temper Jack Kelly how you do. You make’im almost tolerable, an’ I think you owe it to the world to invest some time in that.”

“He’s fresh off Kitty still,” Davey says, shaking his head. “And I’ve already lied about Buttons. At length.”

“Then fess up and deal with the fallout,” says Spot. He crosses his arms over his chest. “You’re a real smart kid, Davey, but I’d never’a guessed it with what Racer’s been tellin’ me you’ve been up to. Complains non-fuckin-stop about the two’a you pinin’ over each other for no goddamn reason.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Spot.”

“The longer you let it all go on like it is, the worse an idea it gets.” Spot punches his arm again, a little harder this time. “Jackie looks at you like you hung the fuckin’ moon, Davey.”

Davey shakes his head. “Spot, why do you call him that? Jackie?”

“Puts us on even ground,” Spot says, shrugging. “He’s older, he’s taller. F’I call’im a nickname it makes him just some other kid.” He fixes Davey with a knowing stare. “How come _you_ call’im Jackie?”

Davey doesn’t meet Spot’s intense gaze, instead fixing his eyes over Spot’s shoulder, letting them fall on Jack where he’s deep in conversation with Robin, the leader from the Bronx. “He calls me Davey.”

“Everyone calls you Davey.”

That’s enough for Davey to tear his gaze away from Jack, to look at Spot, shaking his head. “No, Spot – I mean, Jack _named_ me Davey. Figures I should name him back.”

Spot chuckles. “Get’cha shit together, Daves.”

“I swear to God, I’m trying.”

A few days later, Davey is watching the littles teach Race a card game of their own creation – an amusing reversal of the norm, but Race is always game to learn new card games. For once, he and Buttons aren’t sitting side-by-side, rather Buttons is perched on the edge of a lower bunk while Davey sits on the floor with his back resting against Buttons’s legs. It’s comfortable and easy, a kind of affection Davey wouldn’t allow himself out of this room and this company.

But the newsies _know_. They know Davey is queer and they don’t care, they know about what he and Buttons have going and the only reaction that ever earns are teasing from some boys and disappointed sighs from Race.

In this tiny corner of the world, Davey is safe. He’s _Davey_ , which Davey is starting to realize is the name he’s attached to the loosest, most relaxed version of himself. The version of himself who isn’t afraid to throw his arm around another boy, the version of himself who laughs easy and makes friends, the version of himself who will yell at newspaper tycoons and start strikes.

Davey isn’t quite sure where Jack is – he’s not in Davey’s line of sight, but he must be nearby somewhere. He’s always vaguely aware of Jack’s presence or the lack of it, though it’s not always active.

He’s snapped out of his thoughts by one of the younger kids flopping to the floor next to him.

“You need somethin’, Bug?” Davey asks. Bug is of an age with Les, with a spray of freckles and red hair fiery enough to rival Albert’s. Davey figures there’s a fifty-fifty shot the answer is _no_ ; some of the younger kids have taken to just gravitating into Davey’s orbit for a while before drifting away with no purpose but drawing some comfort or steadiness.

Bug looks up at Davey with big, grey eyes that are far too tired to be in the face of a ten-year-old. “You gotta talk to Jack, Davey.”

“What?” says Davey, frowning. “Why?”

“He was watchin’ you,” says Bug. “An’ drawin’, like he does, an’ then he got that crinkle between his eyebrows and left. I think he’s on the roof. He looked real sad, Davey. I don’t want Jack to be sad.”

“I don’t want Jack to be sad either,” says Davey. He ruffles Bug’s hair. “I’ll talk to him, if that’ll make you feel less worried about him.”

“It would.”

“I’ll go now, how about?”

“Good.” Bug nods firmly.

Davey smiles and stands up.

“Everything alright?” Buttons says.

“Yeah, I think so,” says Davey. He kisses Buttons's temple. “I think it’s time, Ben.”

Buttons frowns, but nods. “If you’re sure.”

“As I’ll ever be.”

Davey climbs out the big window and onto the fire escape, taking a moment to steady himself before creeping up to the rooftop.

“Jackie? Jack, are you up here?”

“That you, Davey?” Jack’s voice says. Davey follows the sound across the rooftop, to the spot where Jack likes to sleep when it’s warmer out. It’s an unusually mild night for winter, but Jack must be cold if he’s been up here more than a few minutes.

“Yeah, love, are you feelin’ alright?” says Davey. He flops onto the roof surface next to Jack, who’s sitting with his knees to his chest.

“Davey, don’t –“

Davey waits for Jack to continue. He doesn’t.

“Don’t what, Jackie?”

“Call me that.”

“Jackie?”

“Love.”

“How come?”

“Davey –“

“Jack.”

Jack stares at Davey for a long time, before finally saying, “Because you don’t.”

Davey takes a breath. “Isn’t it obvious, Jack? Of course I do.”


	10. Davey, you sure?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's done! Thank you all so much for sticking with this story! All the love it's gotten is deeply appreciated <3

“What?”

Davey closes his eyes, taking another breath. He can hear Race’s voice in his ear, _just tell him._ “I love you, Jack.”

“No, no you don’t,” Jack says, shaking his head firmly. “No, you’ve got –“

“I lied,” Davey interrupts. “I lied about being into Buttons, because I couldn’t look you in the eye and tell you the truth. Not while you were still involved with Kitty. Not – ever. Jack, I was fucking terrified.”

“Terrified?” Jack echoes, looking confused.

Davey nods slowly. “I can count the number of people I’ve admitted out loud that I’m queer to on my hands, Jack. Never mind the fact that I’d have been looking my best friend in the eye and telling him I’m in love with him.”

Jack opens and closes his mouth a few times before finally spitting out, “You should’a told me, Davey.”

“What would you have done, huh?” Davey asks, crossing his arms. “What would you have done, still seeing Kitty?” He shakes his head. “Anyway, if you ask any of the boys I was doing a shit job keeping it secret – Race clocked me on it the day you first told everybody I was sweet on some girl, Spot called me out on it, Buttons thinks I’m a fucking moron, hell, Jackie, even Les figured it out. I’m pretty sure even Kitty knows.”

“I don’t – Davey, you sure?” says Jack, shaking his head again. “I don’t see how _I_ could – could be the person you was always talkin’ about.”

“Jack, darling, do you really think that?” says Davey.

“Davey –“

Davey is, at this point, fully committed to whatever’s going to happen here tonight. Whether this ends with Jack deciding to never speak to him again – which Davey is trusting his friends’ judgment to assume is unlikely – or something decidedly more pleasant. Davey’s finally started talking and he’s not planning to stop.

“No, Jack, really.” He nudges Jack’s shoulder to draw his eye and starts counting off on his fingers. “What did I tell you about the person I was sweet on, huh? That it’s a boy, in the end. That he’s persuasive, the one person I can never seem to say no to. That he’s smarter than he’d ever let on, that people look up to him.” Davey isn’t quite looking at Jack as he lists it all off, as bold as he’s feeling just now. Now, though, he meets Jack’s eye. “Jackie, how could that be anyone but you?”

“Oh,” says Jack, and it’s something closer to a breath than an actual word.

“Oh,” Davey says, too, suddenly at a loss for any more words.

In a swift, jerky movement, Jack grabs Davey’s hand. Their eyes are locked on each other – at this distance, Davey can see the hazy fade from green to brown in Jack’s irises, the dry skin on his lips, the very faintest of freckles across his nose.

Davey knows Jack’s face, but he’s realizing now that he’s never been this close to it for this long.

At the very least, he’s never let himself _look_ for this long.

But look he does – at this point, what’s the harm?

“Davey, you gotta know,” Jack says, his voice hoarse, “you gotta know I feel the same.”

“People keep telling me that,” Davey replies softly.

“People?”

“Race,” says Davey, almost without thinking, “Les. Buttons. Spot, once.”

“Fuck,” says Jack. “Guess I ain’t exactly been subtle.”

“Ben’s afraid you’re going to hurt me,” Davey says.

“Ben?”

“Buttons.”

“Oh,” says Jack. “Why?”

“Why _not_ ,” says Davey. He’s still just a breath away from Jack, drifting ever closer. “You – _Jack_. Jack, how could you not?”

“I don’t understand,” Jack says.

“Because you’re _you_ ,” Davey says, “and I’m _me_. Because this can’t last without one of us getting hurt.”

“That don’t mean it ain’t worth doing,” Jack says. He’s so close now that it’s hard to focus on his features.

“No,” Davey agrees, “it doesn’t.”

There's a moment of silent tension. 

It's electric.

And then Davey kisses Jack.

It feels a long time coming – and, Davey muses idly, it probably is – and then suddenly it’s over, and they’re staring at each other again, and Davey is very aware of the suddenly burning cold winter air he’s breathing in, like maybe he wasn’t really breathing before and now he is.

“Davey,” Jack says, and it sounds like home.

“Jackie,” Davey replies, a soft smile he can’t hide on his lips.

Jack kisses Davey again, and when he leans back there’s a look in his eye like he can’t quite believe this is happening.

Davey, to be fair, also cannot quite believe that this is happening.

David from five months ago never would’ve ended up here – on a roof, tangled up and sharing breaths with a boy, a boy who he _loves_ who he’s _told_ he loves him, completely unafraid of what might come later.

Then again, Davey has done a lot of things that David from five months ago would never have done.

He started a strike – a specific terminology he rejected at the beginning but thoroughly embraces now, having come through on the other side much more the ringleader and mastermind than Jack.

He’s found a whole second family of friends – Sarah always used to say he made friends like he had to cross a field of broken glass to get there, but now he has more friends than he knows what to do with, with none of the reservation that used to hold him back.

He fell in love – something he never expected of himself, really, at the very least never expected to _let himself_ fall in love.

In the end, Davey just _isn’t_ that David anymore. Looking back, it’s hard to imagine that he ever was.

“Jackie, I love you,” Davey says again, this time with no hesitation. No shame.

“I love you, Davey,” replies Jack. Their foreheads are touching.

“I’m freezing.”

“We should go inside.”

Despite this, they stay on the roof for a few more minutes before finally disentangling and climbing down to face the rest of the boys.

They climb in through the window, and a few things happen all at once.

Buttons meets Davey’s eye, then his gaze flicks down to where Davey and Jack’s hands are joined between them, then he looks back at Davey’s face. He nods minutely, giving Davey a small smile.

Les points at them and shouts, “ _Finally!”_ because Les is a little shit. He turns and gives Bug a high five.

Race launches himself up from the floor, coming to stand in front of Davey and putting his hands on his shoulders.

Crutchie gets up from the bed where he’s been sitting with Albert, a little slower, and comes to Jack’s side. He closes a hand around Jack’s wrist and tugs him away from Davey, pulling him into a corner to speak in low voices.

“Did you two finally talk?” Race asks Davey softly.

Davey nods. “Yeah, I – I think there’s more talking to do, eventually, but yeah.”

“Be careful with that one,” Race says. “He’s a dumbass.”

“Pot, have you met my friend Kettle?” Davey replies, chuckling.

“Shaddup, I know,” says Race. “I know. He’ll be good to you, though.”

“I hope so.”

“If he doesn’t, he answers to me, Spot, n’Buttons,” Race says firmly. Distantly, Davey wonders whether Buttons filled the others - or, at least, Racer - in on exactly what's been going on while Davey was on the roof with Jack. He must've, for this to be Race's reaction.

“I know,” says Davey. “Thank you.”

They leave late that night, later than Davey intended. It’s all the same as always, save the quick kiss goodbye Jack steals just out of sight of the other boys.

“You seein’ Jack now?” Les asks, his arms crossed over his chest as they walk.

“I s’pose so.”

“Good,” says Les. “He likes you a lot, Davey.”

“I know,” says Davey. “I hope so.”

“He does,” Les says, ten-year-old certainty leaving no room for argument.

“You can’t tell anybody,” Davey reminds him.

Les rolls his eyes. “I know. I can keep a goddamn secret.”

“ _Les_.”

“Davey.” Les elbows Davey’s side. “You know, you’re real different to how you used to be.”

Davey runs his fingers through his hair. “Yeah, I know. Is that a good thing?”

“I think so,” says Les. “Do you?”

Davey thinks about it for a moment before responding.

He thinks about the ways he’s changed, the person he used to be.

He thinks about the last few months, the friends he’s made, the work he’s done.

He thinks about Jack.

It all comes back to Jack, doesn’t it? David was determined, _fucking determined,_ to keep his head down and do the work and go home and not get too involved or attached. And then he met Jack and Jack called him Davey and everything changed.

“Yeah,” Davey says finally. “Yeah, Les, I think it is.”


End file.
